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THE  BENSON  LIBRARY  OP  HYMNOLOGY 

Endowed  by  the  Reverend 
Louis  Fitzgerald  Benson,  d.d. 

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LIBRARY  OF  THE  THEOLOGICAL  SEMINARY 
PRINCETON,  NEW  JERSEY 


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VERSES 


BY 


I 


CHARLOTTE  LEECH 


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Ube  1kntcf?erbocF^cr  pre^s 

NEW   YORK 

1917 


Copyright,   1917 

BY 

MARY    LEECH    BLAKE 


2)cOfcation 

TO 

W.   E.   L. 


Whoever  finds  this  book  in  after  days, 
Whether  he  read  to  mock,  or  smile,  or  praise. 
We  shall  not  care,  it  was  not  writ  for  him 
Nor  for  the  many  with  their  hourly  whim; 
But  made — witness  my  hand — for  You  alone. 
Heedless  if  there  were  other  Reader  none. 
If  this  he'll  neither  comprehend  nor  brook; — 
The  world  is  wide,  there's  many  another  Book. 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2012  with  funding  from 

Princeton  Theological  Seminary  Library 


http://archive.org/details/versesOOIeech 


FOREWORD 

May  it  be  said,  by  way  of  explanation,  that 
the  intimate  or  family  Verses,  vvhich  appear  in 
the  latter  pages  of  this  book,  were  never  in- 
tended for  publication,  nor  would  they  see  the 
light  now  were  it  not  that  this  collection  is 
intended  strictly  for  private  distribution. 

A  number  of  the  miscellaneous  poems  have 
appeared  in  The  Century,  The  Atlantic,  The 
Independent,  The  Critic,  The  Era,  The  Christian 
Register,  Life,  and  Puck.  A  few  have  never 
been  in  print  before. 

The  Dedication  would  make  it  appear  that 
a  collection  of  these  Verses,  in  book  form,  was 
at  one  time  contemplated  by  the  author,  but 
such  an  idea  was  never  for  a  moment  enter- 
tained. 

The  Dedication  was  written  for  her  private 
Scrap  Book,  in  which  she  had  gathered  together 
such  of  her  VerE:es  as  had  appeared  in  print, 
and  from  which  this  little  volume  has  been  pre- 
pared, "  In  Memoriam." 

Mary  Leech  Blake. 
Harriet  W.  R.  Leech. 

Brooklyn,  N.  Y. 
June,  19  17. 


CONTENTS 


All  Saints'  Day 

The  House         .... 

Home  Thoughts 

Out  of  the  Depths     . 

To  One  in  Heaven 

Serenade  ..... 

Easter       ..... 

Angel  of  Silence 

Daffodils  .... 

Paraphrase  of  the  Ninetieth  Psalm 

In  Autumn  .... 

A  Christmas  Letter  . 

Sweetness  and  Light 

The  Road  to  EmxMAUs 

My  Creed  .         .         .         .         , 

"Whom  will  ye  that  I  Release  unto 

Love  and  Conscience 

"Ye  Did  it  unto  me." 

Home  ..... 

Creeds       

Failure 

vii 


YOU? 


PAGt; 

I 

2 

4 
5 
7 
8 

9 

10 

II 

12 

14 
15 
i6 
i8 
19 

20 
21 
22 
24 

25 
26 


viii 

CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Use  and  Wont 

27 

God's  Fool 

. 

29 

The  Reformer 

30 

Belief 

31 

By  the  Sea 

32 

Pandora    . 

33 

A  Little  Grave 

35 

Jessie  Leigh  of 

Perth         .... 

36 

The  Chrysanth] 

EMUM.            .... 

42 

Resignation 



43 

The  Sisters 

44 

Recompense 

49 

A  Mood 

50 

The  Scapegoat 

51 

Paraphrase  of  i 

^HE  One  Hundred  and  Thirtieti 

i 

Psalm 

53 

The  Burial 

55 

Bereft 

56 

Then  and  Now 

57 

The  Daughter ( 

DF  THE  Mayflower      . 

58 

The  Fire-Fly 

60 

A  Question 

62 

Salutatory 

64 

Farewell 

•       65 

The  Seventies 

.        68 

Golden  Jubilee 

Song          .... 

69 

CONTENTS 

ix 

PAGE 

Song, 1873 

71 

A  New  Offertory  Hymn    .         .         .         . 

72 

Renunciation    . 

73 

The  Pulpit  and  the  Pews 

74 

"It  IS  Expedient" 

86 

Friar  Benedict's  Prayer   .... 

87 

An  Etching 

91 

The  Ebbing  Tide        •       ,  - 

92 

The  Might  of  Mirth           .... 

94 

MULTUM  IN  PaRVO 

96 

Saint  Philip  Neri       .         ... 

97 

"  I  Read  my  Books  in  Woman's  Looks  " 

100 

The  Impecunious  Tutor     .... 

102 

To  Jane  Austen 

105 

On  an  Old  Volume  of  "  Punch,  "  Containing  Johi 

sf 

Leech's  Pictures          .... 

107 

The  Brontes 

108 

To  George  Eliot 

109 

Burns        

no 

Jane  Welsh  Carlyle          .... 

.     Ill 

BOSWELL 

.        112 

Saint  Bridget's  Day            .... 

.        113 

Emerson 

.        114 

Richard  Watson  Gilder    .... 

•        115 

On  a  Late  Victorian           .... 

.        116 

Under  the  Wizard's  Spell 

•        117 

X                            CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Destiny ii8 

A  City  Sonnet  . 

119 

A  Lullaby 

120 

August,  1878 

121 

Mine  Own  People 

122 

My  Vanished  Youth 

123 

To-day        .... 

124 

"I  HAVE  Loved  and  been  Loved' 

' 

126 

To  Young  America     . 

127 

Hymn 

128 

Goldenrod  on  Star  Island. 

129 

Religion    .... 

131 

Moonlight 

132 

"Within  You" 

133 

Rest           .... 

134 

I  Loved  Thee  Once    . 

136 

Brooklyn  Town 

137 

Annie  Laurie 

139 

Environment 

141 

Holy  Innocents 

142 

The  Return 

143 

A  Woman's  Litany 

145 

Retrospect 

146 

Tragedy    .... 

147 

"Complire" 

148 

CONTENTS 

xi 

PAGE 

My  Epitaph 

150 

After  Heine 

151 

To  A  Reclaimed  Sofa 

152 

A  Birthday  Wish 

154 

A  Duke's  a  Duke  for  a'  that 

155 

The  American  Girl's  Appeal 

156 

At  the  Door 

158 

An  Epitaph 

159 

In  the  Lane 

160 

The  Three  Graces 

161 

Questionings  (After  Wordsworth)    . 

162 

The  Retort  Courteous      .         .         .    '     . 

164 

The  London  "Times"          .... 

i^'5 

The  Wishing  Gate  Visited 

166 

A  Socialist                  

168 

The  Thistle 

169 

A  Song       

171 

A  Valentine 

172 

Through  Life 

173 

Bliss 

174 

"B"oRNO  "B" — That's  THE  Question! 

176 

Jack  Writes  to  his  Brother 

177 

An  Epitaph 

179 

The  Cat  and  the  Fiddle— Likewise  the  Bow 

180 

The  Retort  Positive          .... 

.      183 

Xll 


CONTENTS 


Reckoning 

Tommy  Sees  a  Meteor 

The  Sermon 

A  "Revised"  Nursery  Rhyme 

In  Church 

True  .... 

High  Life 

To  Bob — A  Leap-Year  Valentine 

Lines  on  an  Authoress 

St.  Valentine's  Eve  (In  Imitation  of  Keats) 

An  Imaginary  Epistle  to  Landor 

The  Reason        . 

At  the  Sign  of  the  Three  Balls 

Grandfather  and  Child     . 

Vv^HIP-POOR-WlLL  AND  KaTY-DiD   . 

The  Truth  about  Polly 

The  Higher  Education  of  Women 

As  TO  Joseph  Chamberlain 

The  Reckoning.     "The  Game  Isn't  Worth  the 
Candle."     . 

A  Grandmother's  Story 

To  Gordon  Pryor  Rice  :  with  a  Copy  of  the 
Rubaiyat     . 

K.  C.  OF  C.  C.    . 

To  M.  H.  B.  :    with  a   Copy   of  Mrs.   Pryor 
Reminiscences 


PAGE 

184 
185 
186 
188 
189 
191 
192 
193 
195 
196 
198 
200 
201 
203 
204 
207 
208 
209 

210 
211 

214 
215 

219 


CONTENTS  xiii 

PAGE 

Before  the  Burial — To  M.  H.  B.        .         .         .  217 

In  Memoriam — M.  H.  B.     .  .  .         .         .219 

To  Hilda 220 

The  Leader — E.  B.  M 221 

To  Dellie  for  her  Album           ....  222 

To  Henry  R.  Jones,  Esq.:  with  a  Candlestick    .  223 

To  H.  R.  Jones,  Esq're:  with  a  New  England 

Primer         .......  224 

Ichabod.     L'Envoi.     ToA.  J.  C 225 

To  M.  G.  L 227 

The  Living  Christ.     To  M.  L.  B.        .         .         .  229 

To  M.  G.  L 231 

The  Christening.     To  Charlotte      .         .         .  232 

To  Elsie 233 

To  Charlotte  on  her  Fourth  Birthday     .  235 

To  "Brownie" 236 

My  Charlotte 237 

Daisy  and  Buttercup 238 

To  Charlotte 240 

Elsie's  Party:  Welcome 241 

Elsie's  Party:  Finale 242 

To  Charlotte    ,                   .          .          .'        .         .  243 

What  Would  You  Do?       .....  244 

To    Charlotte:    with    a    Copy    of    "Pilgrim's 

Progress" 245 

To  Elsie  :  A  Valentine 246 


XIV 


CONTENTS 


To  Charlotte:  with  a  Box  of  Marshmallows 
To  "Brownie"  ...... 

To  "Brownie"  . 


PAGE 

247 
248 
249 

251 
252 

253 
254 
255 
256 
257 


The  Japanese  Fan 

To  Charlotte    . 

To  Charlotte    . 

Easter.     To  Elsie 

To  Charlotte:  Eighteen 

Easter.     To  "Brownie" 

To  Charlotte  in  Europe 

Easter.     To  Elsie  and  "Brownie"    . 

To  Charlotte:  at  the  Time  of  the  Canonization 

OF  Joan  of  Arc    ......     258 

To   Elsie:    with   a    Copy  of  William  Morris's 

Poems.  .......     259 

To  "Brownie":  WITH  A  Bunch  OF  Violets  .     260 

"DiNNA  Forget":  to  Charlotte  with  a  Copy  of 

"Gems  OF  Scottish  Song"     ....     261 

To  Elsie:  A  Sonnet 262 

To  Charlotte  :  with  a  Ring        ....  263 

To  Charlotte .  264 

To  Charlotte:  with  a  "Book  of  Verses"  .  265 

To  Elsie:  with  A  Sofa  Pillow    ....  266 

To  Charlotte,  with  a  Copy  of  Collected  Poems 

BY  Austin  Dobson 267 

To  Charlotte:  with  a  Copy  of  the  Victorian 

Anthology 268 

when  Charlotte  Plays     .         .         .         .         .     269 


CONTENTS 

R.  L.  S.     Onxe  More.     To  Louise 

A  Birthday  Prayer  for  Charlotte 

To  Charlotte    . 

Charlotte  at  the  Piano     . 

To  Louise 

In  Town.     To  Charlotte 

Motherhood.     To  H.  W.  R.  L. 

XiGHT  AND  Morning.     To  Robin 

Spencer      .... 

GooD-MoRNiNG.     To  Harry 

GooD-NiGHT.     To  Harry    . 

To  Malcolm 

Easter,  1902.     To  Bessie 

To  Elsie    .... 

To  Little  Elsie:  A  Cradle  Song 

"Now  I  Lay  Me"  (Revised).     To  Little  Elsie 

The  Party.     To  Little  Elsie 

The  Baby's  Curl.     To  Little  Elsie   . 

Elsie  Blake  King      ..... 


XV 

PAGE 
270 

271 
274 

276 

277 
278 
280 
281 
282 
283 
284 
285 
286 
287 
288 
289 
290 


ALL  SAINTS'  DAY 
Music  by  Gounod:     The  Radiant  Morn. 

OUR  saints  who  sometime  with  us  trod 
The  earthly  way  our  feet  still  roam, 
Have  found  their  perfect  rest  in  God, 
In  Him  their  home. 

Their  joy  we  never  may  attain 

Nor,  w^hite-robed,  look  upon  God's  face 

Till  up  the  beetling  hills  of  pain 
Their  way  we  trace. 

Lord,  Christ,  the  "Cross  of  Calvary 

Marked  for  our  saints  the  journey's  lengtli, 

We  follow  where  they  followed  Thee 
Be  Thou  our  strength. 


THE  HOUSE 

WHAT  does  he  view,  the  passer-by? 
By  every  human  sign 
A  goodly  habitation,  but 
I  see  a  shrine. 

He  marks  what  may  be  bartered,  sold, 
Or  changed,  as  are  men's  wares — 

I  see  a  tabernacle  and 
God's  altar  stairs. 

With  angels  going  up  and  down, 

The  loved  and  unforgot. 
The  dwelling,  like  the  Patriarch's  stone, 

But  marks  the  spot. 

He  notes  the  fragrant,  grassy  space, 
A  bright  and  heartsome  sight — 

I  see  a  field  whereon  was  fought 
A  mortal  fight. 

The  goings  out  and  comings  in 

Are  seen  of  passers-by — 
The  doors  close  on  the  conflict,  and 

The  tragedy. 


THE  HOUSE 

The  inmates,  like  a  rosary 

Held  by  the  slender  thread 
Of  lineage — what  vows  they  have  vowed, 

What  prayers  have  said! 

Hearken,  dear  God,  unite  them  in 

Thy  fair  and  far-off  lands 
Forevermore  in  Love's  Wide  House 

Not  made  with  hands. 


HOME  THOUGHTS 

THE  fire  glows  upon  the  hearth  to-night 
At  my  old  home, 
But  on  new  faces  shines  its  radiant  light 
While  far  I  roam, 

I  may  not  envy  them  that  spot  so  fair, 

I  seek  my  own ; 
The  names  of  those  who  once  were  gathered  there 

Are  graved  on  stone. 

Could  I  but  lay  me  down  to-night  and  pray 

That  sleep  might  come, 
From  which,  when  angels  roll  the  stone  away. 

We  wake  at  Home ! 


OUT  OF  THE  DEPTHS 

W.  E.  L. 

WITH  empty  hands  lifted  in  empty  air, 
Mother  of  Consolation,  hear  my  prayer ; 
For  since  'tis  said,  "it  has  pleased  God  to  give, 
And  then  to  take  away, " 
To  Him  I  cannot  pray 
And  hold  belief  that  such  is  my  belief. 
Mother  of  Christ,  to  thee 
Alone  I  make  my  plea : 

Oh,  dear  and  sacred  heart,  but  yestereven, 
As  paled  the  west,  there  went  one  into  heaven 
Whom  God  had  hurt  beyond  the  mete  of  men. 
Let  him,  I  pray,  sink  down  before  thee,  then 
Lay  hot  and  throbbing  head  upon  thy  knee, 
And  take  thy  hand, — for  so  he  used  with  me, 
Placing  it  on   his   forehead,   where  the  pain 

burnt  through. 
Oh,  stroke  his  dear  hair,  Mother  of  all  woe. 
How  can  I  ever  doubt 
Thou  knowest  to  smooth  the  furrows  out 
One  after  one,  plowed  there,  ^ 

By  anguish  of  despair! 
5 


OUT  OF  THE  DEPTHS 

What  need,  what  need  has  he 

Of  Him  who  was,  is,  and  shall  ever  be 

Clothed  in  the  praises  of  eternity? 

Upon  a  sapphire  throne 

Sun,  moon,  and  stars  His  own — 

The  rather  he  has  need  only  of  thee, 

Mother  of  Peace.     If  such  a  thing  might  be. 

Soft  in  thy  garment's  hem 

Fold  him  and  let  him' sleep 

The  sleep  God  gives  to  them 

He  calls  His  own  beloved, 

Holy,  serene,  and  deep. 

There  may  he  rest  unmoved 

Till  One  shall  seek  him  out 

And  cry  to  him,   "Come   forth" — the   same 

that  bade 
Lazarus  arise, — and  take  him  by  the  hand — 
Immortal  moment !     he  will  understand. 

No  more  in  mad 

And  bhnding  doubt. 
Mother  of  Christ,  with  tear-cleansed  eyes,  may  I, 
Like  Mary  and  like  Martha,  stand  near  by. 


TO  ONE  IN  HEAVEN 

DOES  it  seem  long  to  you,  in  heaven 
Until  I  come, 
'Til  seven  years? 
To  me  'tis  seventy  times  seven 
At  our  old  home 
Counted  in  tears. 


vSERENADE 

OH !  softly,  softly  evening  breeze, 
While  stars  their  watch  are  keeping; 
Breathe  softly  through  the  swaying  trees, 
My  lady  dear  is  sleeping. 

Oh  tenderly,  sweet  nightingale, 

While  Love's  own  moon  is  beaming, 

Breathe  tenderly  thy  plaintive  wail. 
My  lady  dear  is  dreaming. 

All  gentle  things  keep  watch  with  me. 

Till  golden  morn  is  breaking. 
For  day  on  land,  and  sky  and  sea. 

Comes  with  my  lady's  waking. 


EASTER 

YE  would  see  Jesus?     Nay,  fond  hearts,  not 
here. 
If  it  be  true  ye  seek  a  Hving  Christ — 
So  spake  the  radiant  presence  at  the  Tomb — 
Ye  must  go  otherwhere  to  keep  your  tryst. 

Not  here,  but  on  the  long  and  weary  road 

Where  there  are  wounds  to  bind  or  woes  to 
share, 

And  ye  shall  feel  your  hearts  within  your  burn 
For  ye  shall  find  the  living  Jesus  there. 


ANGEL  OF  SILENCE 

ANGEL  of  Silence !  lay  thy  finger  soft 
Athwart  my  woman's  lips,   that   I    may 

stand 
Steadfastly  mute,  tho'  I  must  see  full  oft, 
On  summer  nights,  go  wandering  hand  in  hand 
Brave  men  and  maidens  sweet,  in  love's  first 

heaven ; 
I  hear  dear  children  shout  from  morn  till  even, 
Loud  boys  and  timid  little  girls  at  play. 
Whom  other  women  bore,  while  my  arms  ache 
For  emptiness,  and  hunger  gnaws  my  heart, 
Poor  useless  thing,  which  yet  will  never  break. 
As  I  look  on  at  Life  and  take  no  part — 
Steadfastly  silent,  while  for  me,  O  Lord, 
O'er  Eden's  gate  there  hangs  the  flaming  sword! 


10 


DAFFODILS 

IN  all  the  dells,  on  all  the  hills, 
They  come,  they  come,  the  Daffodils; 
Flinging  their  banners  in  the  air, 
A  burst  of  glory  ever^^where. 

Soft  as  the  shadows  in  a  dream, 
Their  forms  are  mirrored  in  the  stream, 
Upon  whose  quiet  banks  I  lie 
Alone,  the  Daffodils  and  I. 

Dear  Flowers  by  Poet  loved  and  sung, 
When  England's  Muse  was  fresh  and  young, 
Ere  she  had  drunken  to  the  lees. 
Or  learned  to  toy  with  mysteries. 

He  thought  no  shame  of  Thee  to  learn. 
Ah !  blessed  he  who  can  discern 
Truth,  though  it  thrill  but  for  an  hour 
The  golden  heart  of  a  little  flower. 


PARAPHRASE  OF  THE  NINETIETH 
PSALM 

CREATOR  of  all  time  and  space, 
Maker  and  Lord  of  man, 
Lo,  Thou  hast  been  our  dwelling-place 
Since  time  and  space  began. 

Or  ever  Thou  hadst  formed  the  earth, 
Or  curbed  the  wayward  sea. 

Before  the  morning  stars  had  birth. 
Thou  wert  eternally. 

The  countless  ages  in  Thy  sight 

As  snowfiakes  melt  away, 
Or  as  the  watches  of  the  night, 

Fly  at  the  break  of  day. 

And  how  regardest  Thou  man's  years? 

Eternal  God  and  Lord, 
But  as  a  tale  that's  writ  in  tears, 

And  ceases  at  Thy  word. 

Yet  deep  in  human  hearts  doth  lurk 

The  hope  Thou  wilt  see  fit 
To  'stablish  Thy  frail  creature's  work. 

Yea,  Lord,  establish  it. 

12 


THE  NINETIETH  PSALM 

That  we  through  all  eternity, 

As  in  the  mortal  past, 
May  find  our  toil  and  wage  in  Thee, 

In  Thee,  our  rest  at  last. 


13 


IN  AUTUMN 

THE  royal  grape  is  on  the  vine,' 
The  trees  are  flaming  red, 
The  year  is  ripe  with  corn  and  wine, 
'Tis  time  that  we  were  wed. 

Together  we  have  watched  the  showers, 

Fall  on  the  hopes  of  spring. 
Together  seen  those  hopes  turned  flowers- 

What  shall  the  autumn  bring? 

Fruition  on  each  bough  and  limb, 

Faith  realized,  fear  fled. 
The  year's  wine  frothing  at  the  brim, 

'Tis  time  that  we  were  wed. 

'Tis  time,  'tis  time,  my  own,  I  yearn 

To  call  thee  mine,  all  m.ine, 
Oh,  Son  of  Mary,  for  us  turn 

Life's  waters  into  wine. 


14 


A  CHRISTMAS  LETTER 

IT  is  the  time  of  glad  goodwill 
That  marks  love's  humble  holy  birth 
When  all  the  world  grown  strangely  still 
Lists  to  the  song  of  peace  on  earth. 

No  fitter  time,  O  tried  and  true 
No  fitter,  sweeter  time  than  this 

For  me  to  give  my  "yes"  to  you 
And  seal  it  with  Love's  very  kiss. 


15 


SWEETNESS  AND  LIGHT 

THE  race  not  always  to  the  swift 
Nor  victory  to  the  strong? 
Then  why  the  goal  before  us  lift  ? 
Why  raise  the  battle  song? 

If  feet  that  wait  not  by  the  way, 

If  hearts  that  fight  the  wrong, 
Must  fall  behind,  must  lose  the  day. 

Why  then  be  swift  or  strong? 

Take  heed !  the  mightiest  man  of  old 

Was  blinded  and  made  weak, 
That  so  to  caviling  hearts  and  bold 

He  might  with  knowledge  speak. 

Sweetness  is  better  far  than  strength — 
Light  doeth  more  than  speed — 

All  failing,  sweetness  comes  at  length , 
Light  unto  God  doth  lead. 

Out  of  the  strong  let  sweetness  flow, 

Out  of  the  blinded.  Light, — 
Live  thou  these  words  and  thou  shalt  know 

Manoah's  son  was  right. 
i6 


SWEETNESS  AND  LIGHT 

Who  Light  and  Sweetness  on  his  way, 

Gives  PhiHstine  and  friend, 
Finds  strength  and  swiftness  for  his  day 

And  God's  goal  at  the  end. 


17 


THE  ROAD  TO   EMMAUS 

WPIERE  have  they  laid  Him? 
Xay,  He  is  not  dead, 
Behold  Him  where  He  walketh  with  His  own. 
Oh,  loving,  loyal  hearts  be  comforted 
Forevermore  has  rolled  away  the  stone ! 

Abide  with  us,  abide  with  us,  oh  Lord, 
Deep  in  our  hearts  abide  Thou  living  Word, 
Thou  didst  put  on  our  frail  humanity 
So  may  we  wear  Thine  immortality. 


MY  CREED 

I  DO  not  know  how  other  women  love. 
I  only  knov\'  that  when  I  wake  each  day 

And  lift  my  heart  to  the  great  Heart  above. 
It  is  for  thee — for  thee  alone — I  pray. 

How  other  women  love,  I  cannot  know, 
I  only  feel  if  joy  from  thee  has  fled, 

'Tis  midnight,  tho'  a  thousand  suns  should  glow; 
If  thine — 'tis  noonday,  tho'  all  suns  were  dead 

How  other  women  love  is  not  my  ken , 
I  only  know  death  has  no  fears  for  me. 

Alone  one  moment  in  the  dark,  and  then — 
We  two,  with  God,  in  His  eternitv. 


19 


'WHOM  WILL  YE  THAT  I  RELEASE 
UNTO  YOU?" 

AH,  had  the  mob  but  "Jesus"  cried, 
He  had  not  then  been  crucified, 
And  we  through  teachings  manifold 
Had  rightly  learned  how  to  grow  old. 


20 


LOVE  AND  CONSCIENCE 

WHO  would  not  rather  live  the  mad  moth's 
life 
One  glowing  kiss,  then  in  the  living  flame, 
Consumed  of  his  desire,  crowned  with  his  aim, 
Die,  glorified,  while  happiness  was  life, 

Than  when  through  endless  time,  ensphered  far. 
far 
Above  all  human  joys  and  loves  and  fears. 
Passions,  desires,  longings  and  warm  tears, 

True  to  its  destiny — a  midnight  star! 

But  Conscience  then, — back  in  a  weary  land. 
How  godlike,  'tis  the  needle  to  the  north. 
Ocean  to  moon — and  yet  I'd  be  the  moth — 

The  God  who  made  me  He  can  understand. 


21 


"YE  DID  IT  UNTO  ME" 

ONE  stood  where  earth  and  heaven  meet 
And  heard  the  voice  of  Love: — "My  son 
With  the  great  gift  of  Hfe  I  gave 

Freely  to  thee,  what  hast  thou  done?" 

He,  answering:  "Lord,  I  held  the  creed 

In  every  clause  inviolate. 
And  I  was  eloquent  in  prayer 

And  edifying  in  debate." 

Then  Love:     "When  I  was  lone  and  sick, 
Shorn  and  unsheltered  among  men, 

Lone  and  in  prison  languishing 

Make  known,  what  didst  thou  for  me  then?" 

"When  Thou  didst  lie  in  prison,  Lord, 

Athirst  and  hungering,  alas. 
One  held  Thou  wert  of  mortal  birth 

And  vowed  Thy  follower  he  was. 

"But  when  he  taught  that  in  the  flesh 

The  dead  shall  never  rise  again 
I  scourged  him  from  Th}^  Temple  pure, 

And  strove  to  seal  his  Hps  profane." 


"YE  DID  IT  UNTO  ME" 

"My  son!     'Twas  he  who  visited 
My  prison,  bringing  oil  and  wine ; 

Ere  his  own  wounds  were  closed  he  came 
And  laid  a  healing  touch  on  mine." 

"Dear  Lord": — he  bowed  him  to  the  earth 
And  hid  his  face  in  contrite  shame, 

Then  heard  once  more  the  still,  small  voice- 
"Arise,  go  thou  and  do  the  same." 


23 


HOME 

WHEN  Mary  shall  have  learned  the  art 
Of  making  love  and  service  one, 
And  Martha  learned  the  better  part 
That  lies  in  some  things  left  undone, 
Then  not  as  Guest,  shall  Jesus  come 
But  with  us  shall  abide — at  Home. 


24 


CREEDS 

WHICH  is  the  healing  plant 
And  which  the  noxious  leaf? 
Why  question,  from  the  accursed  tree 
Heaven  hails  a  Christ — and  Thief  I 


FAILURE 

TAKE  my  defeat,  O  Lord,  for  offering: 
'Tis  all  I  have  to  bring; 
But  in  thy  name,  and  not  my  own,  I  wrought. 
Can  it  have  been  for  naught  ? 


26 


USE  AND  WONT 

"The  cloak  that  I  left  at  Troas  with  Carpus, 
when  thou  comest,  bring  with  thee,  and  the 
books,  but  especially  the  parchments." 

2  Timothy  iv.,  13. 

THE     books,     the     parchments,     and     the 
cloak":— 
Illustrious  Boy  on  whom  did  fall. 
If  only  while  the  morning  broke. 
The  mantle  of  the  Apostle  Paul. 

The  books — but  more  especially 
I  would  I  might  have  borne  to  him 

The  parchments  for  his  eyes  to  see 

Ere  time  and  tears  had  made  them  dim. 

Oh,  the  divinity — Heaven's  seal — 
In  human  things,  though  unto  them 

We  may  not  bow  ourselves,  nor  kneel, 
Yet  do  they  fringe  His  garment's  hem. 

Nay,  He  who  conquered  Death  for  all 

His  immortality  unveils 
Through  no  supernal  miracle, 

But  by  the  stigma  of  the  nails. 
27 


USE  AND  WONT 

All  things  are  human,  all  divine, 

The  earth  is  His,  and  sea, — 
Lord,  through  Thy  gifts  of  Bread  and  Wine 

Do  we  remember  Thee. 


28 


GOD'S  FOOL 

THE  King  turned  from  the  men  of  state, 
And  to  his  Fool  said  he, — 
"If  thou  wert  Arbiter  of  Fate, 

Whose  should  the  Victory  be?" 
"The  'Victory?'     Nay,  there  is  but  one, 
One  only,  other  there  is  none, — 
Gained  once  on  Calvary, 
And  by  a  Thief,  mark  ye!" 
The  erstwhile  Jester  said. 
And  meek  obeisance  made : 

"Thou  Fool!"   the  King  cried.     "Have  a 

care! 
Of  such  blaspheming  words  beware!" 


29 


THE  REFORMER 

MOCKED   as   a  runner,   furthest  from   the 
goal, 
Foiled,  but  pursuing,  as  the  sea  the  moon, 
Trembling,  but  true  as  needle  to  the  pole, 

Treading  the  winepress  in  the  glare  of  noon, 
To  cry  in  agony,  at  last,  "I  thirst!" 
Behold  the  Man!     Follow  him  if  thou  durst, 
And  men  shall  plait  for  thee  of  thorns  a  crown. 
Yet  follow — and  the  future  is  thine  own. 


30 


BELIEF 

THOU  earnest  to  a  world  of  stress  and  tears 
To   bring,   Lord   Christ,   glad    tidings    of 
relief ; 
But  our  chief  gain  in  these  two  thousand  years — 
Forgive  our  unbelief — is  this  belief. 


31 


BY    THE    SEA 

ART  Thou,  O  God  in  that  far  space, 
Where  sky  and  ocean  seem  to  meet. 
Where  a  poor  weary  conquered  world, 
Falls  sobbing  at  high  heaven's  feet  j* 

Thy  way  is  in  the  deep,  and  yet. 

Thou  lea  vest  there  no  trace  whereby, 

The  o'ertasked  souls  of  men,  may  find 
The  path,  whose  ending  is  the  sky! 

Great  God !  'tis  not  for  us  to  say, 

Which  way  our  life's  frail  bark  shall  tend 

We  move  by  faith  and  not  by  sight, 
And  Thou  indeed  art  at  the  end. 

Where'er  it  be,  there  is  the  port. 
Where  all  must  enter  at  the  last. 

Where  all  must  furl  the  tattered  sail, 
And  make  the  time-worn  anchor  fast. 

I  venture  on  the  Sea  of  Thought, 
Unless  Thy  strong  arm  stretches  out, 

To  save  as  once  on  Galilee, 
I  sink  in  unbelief  and  doubt. 
32 


PANDORA 

KNOW  ye  the  story  of  dainty  Pandora  ? 
And    Epimetheus,    her    spouse    and    the 
Box, 
How  he  protests  not,  so  does  he  adore  her. 
While  she  the  fatal  hasp  madly  unlocks. 

Lovely  to  look  at  and  happily  wedded 

One  would  have  thought   that   her  cup  was 
quite  full 

Xay,  needle-eye  shall  with  camel  be  threaded 
Ere  the  desire  of  woman  shall  lull. 

Eve's  curiosity  ruined  her  progeny, 
Sheer  curiosity  wrought  the  despair 

Of  Epimetheus,  and  by  misogyny, 

Made  him  henceforward  to  fervently  swear. 

"Open  the  Box,  "  cried  the  naughty  Pandora, 
"Xay,  nay,"  said  her  husband,  "that  may  I 
not  do, " 
"Infirm  of  purpose,  then  I  will" — deplore  her 
Rash  act,  O  ye    mortals,  for  therefrom  there 
flew 
3  33 


PANDORA 

Horrors  1  Each  evil  that  poor  flesh  is  heir  to, 
Dismay  and  disaster  were  given  full  scope, 

But — acme  of  irony — how  could  they  bear  to — 
The  gods  let  the  woman  shut  down  upon  Hope ! 

Better  for  us  had  it  out  with  the  others, 
Forth  from  the  casket  incontinent  flown — 

For  undisappointed,  at  least,  O,  my  brothers 
Were  we,  had  we  never  Hope's  flattery  knovv^n. 


34 


A  LITTLE  GRAVE 

WHERE  think  you  I  beheld  her  last, 
Dear  "Bouncing  Bet?" 
Beside  the  green  grave  of  a  child 
All  dewy  wet. 

The  little  children's  jocund  flower 

Who  placed  her  there 
Forever  to  keep  watch  and  ward 

In  white  robes,  where 

Sunbeams  slant  downward  through  the  trees 

And  soft  rains  drip, 
Dear  "Bouncing  Bet"  grown  strangely  still, 

Finger  on  lip ! 


35 


JESSIE  LEIGH  OF  PERTH 
A  grandmother's  story 

( True) 

A  FAIRER  or  a  nobler  lass 
Of  high  or  humble  birth 
Ne'er  drew  the  breath  of  life,  my  bairns, 
Than  Jessie  Leigh  of  Perth. 

"Aunt  Jess,"  whom  only  yestermorn 

Beneath  the  rowan  tree, 
We  laid  to  rest  in  her  last  sleep 

I  would  it  had  been  me. 

But  I  must  tell  you  e'er  I  die, 

Lest  from  another  tongue, 
You  hear  the  story  of  her  life 

In  words  that  might  be  wrong. 

For  we  were  aye  a  silent  folk 

(Least  said  the  less  to  rue) 
Telling  the  truth,  nought  but  the  truth, 

But  never  all  we  knew. 
36 


JESSIE  LEIGH  OF  PERTH 

Well  then — before  the  days  of  steam, 
There  sailed  from  Glasgow  town, 

One  summer  eve,  a  goodly  ship. 
Just  as  the  sun  went  down. 

When  that  same  sun  rose  up,  next  morn, 

Her  rough  but  kindly  crew 
Heard  from  a  hidden  coil  of  rope 

What  seemed  a  kitten's  "miew, " 

And  there  they  found  a  little  lass 

Fast  in  the  grip  of  fear — 
"God  bless  my  soul,"  the  Captain  said, 

* '  What  are  you  doing  here  ? ' ' 

"I  want  my  Granny,  please,"  she  said, 
"i\nd  Granny  dear,  wants  me," 

"But  what's  your  Granny's  name  and  yours 
"I'm  Jess  and  'Granny,'  she." 

The  Captain  was  a  Yankee  man 

In  goodness  richly  sown; 
He  made  the  ship  the  lassie's  home 

And  loved  her  as  his  own. 

But  all  the  time  they  sailed  the  sea, 
Nought  could  he  learn  nor  guess 

From  that  wee  lassie's  artless  talk, 
But  just  the  fact,  "I'm  Jess," 
37 


JESSIE  LEIGH  OF  PERTH 

Excepting  for  one  other,  that 
Her  "Mother  hved  in  Heaven," 

But  where  her  father  Hved,  she  knew 
Nought,  nor  his  name  even. 

The  Captain  on  his  backward  voyage, 

Took  the  poor  child  along, 
But  never  found  the  lassie's  folk 

Though  hard  he  wrought  and  long. 

Then  to  the  high  authorities. 

Of  ancient  Glasgow  town. 
He  vowed:     "I'll  take  her  back  with  me, 

And  keep  her  like  my  own." 

That  did  he,  giving  Jessie  to 

His  sister  never  wed, 
Who  took  her  to  her  empty  arms, 

Loved  her  and  clothed  and  fed. 

Her  home  was  in  a  college  town, 

Whither  the  Captain's  son 
Went  all  his  schoolboy  holidays 

And  to  the  college  on. 

Oh,  but  it  was  a  blithesome  sight 

As  one  would  ask  to  see. 
That  lover  and  his  Perthshire  lass, 

Under  the  great  elm  tree. 
38 


JESSIE  LEIGH  OF  PERTH 

But  e'er  the  time  for  them  to  wed 
There  came  from  far-ofE  Perth, 

A  law^'er  sent  to  take  our  Jess  . 
Back  to  her  place  of  birth. 

He  told  how  after  weary  search, 

Her  father  died  of  grief. 
And  how  there  died  in  Glasgow  town 

The  base,  kidnapping  thief. 

But  'twas  not  all  remorse,  my  bairns. 

Made  her  mother's  folk  agree 
To  find  the  little  stowaway 

For  there  was  property. 

They  formed  a  compact,  'twixt  themselves, 

By  the  shrewd  terms  of  which 
They'd  wed  her  to  her  cousin,  Keith, 

Who'd  thereby  be  made  rich. 

Oh,  bairns,  beware  of  greed  of  gold. 

It  shrivels  up  the  soul ; 
It  sends  a  man  a  darksome  road 

And  his  best  parts  pay  toll ' 

The  law\^er  tracked  Jess  to  her  home 

Of  piety  and  worth. 
And  told  her  all  the  gold  and  lands 

That  waited  her  at  Perth. 
39 


JESSIE  LEIGH  OF  PERTH 

Her  foster  mother's  heart  stood  still 

Unused  to  such  alarms; 
She  rose  and  tottered  and  then  fell 

Into  her  darhng's  arms. 

"Nay,  never  heed  his  words, "  cried  Jess, 

"Who  is  he  to  remind  me, 
Of  Glasgow,  sir,  please  understand 

I've  burnt  my  ships  behind  me, " 

"But  if  you'll  come  to-morrow  morn, 

I'll  have  my  pastor  here. 
And  he  will  speak  my  mind  for  me 

Quite  plainly,  never  fear." 

Oh,  God  be  praised  for  such  as  she; 

They  live  in  ever\^  land 
Where  He  is  loved,  their  Shepherd  He 

Still  feeds  them  from  His  hand. 

The  gallant  lass  got  word  to  him 

In  yonder  college  hall ; 
With  her  dear  hand  held  fast  in  his 

She  trembhng  told  him  all. 

Then  laughed  as  any  Httle  brook. 
As  silvery  and  as  sweet, 

And  swift  made  clear  her  morning's  plan- 
How  he  and  she  should  meet, 
40 


JESSIE  LEIGH  OF  PERTH 

In  presence  of  his  kinswoman, 

And  the  unrighteous  Scot, 
While  her  beloved  minister 

Should  tie  the  sacred  knot. 

"And  where  you  go, "  she  cried,  "I  go, ' 

(She  knew  her  Bible  fine) 
"Your  people  shall  my  people  be. 

Your  country  shall  be  mine!" 

Next  morn  the  holy  man  was  there 

And  all  was  as  she  said, 
The  foster  mother  and  the  Scot — 

And  there  they  two  were  wed  1 

My  half-brother  her  father  was, 
Dear  bairns,  she  was  a  Leigh, 

And  oh,  but  they  know  how  to  love. 
Whate'er  their  fortune  be. 

And  when  you've  joined  a  Yankee  man 

With  a  lassie  out  of  Perth, 
There's  not  a  nobler  union 

Mind  you,  upon  the  earth. 


41 


THE  CHRYSANTHEMUM 

THE  trees  are  leafless  and  the  air  is  dumb, 
The  skies  are  leaden  and  the  grass  is  gray, 
And  bleak  November  holds  its  deadening  sway 
O'er  all  save  thee,  thou  brave  Chrysanthemimi. 

When  not  for  me  the  summer's  ripening  breath, 
Gladdens  to  joy  each  fiber  of  the  heart, 

Nor  evermore  sharp  winter's  angry  smart. 
Goads  the  mad  soul  to  face  or  life  or  death — 

Ah,  when  Monotony  my  soul  doth  numb. 
And  dullness  marks  each  uneventful  day 

When  I  have  heart  to  neither  work  nor  pray, 
Teach  me  I  still  may  grow,  Chrysanthemum. 


42 


RESIGNATION 

OGOD,  'tis  Thine  alone  to  give 
'Tis  Thine  alone  to  take, 
'Tis  Thine  to  grant  the  vSpirit  that 
Bears  all  things  for  Thy  sake. 

Nor  know  we  ever  what  is  great, 
Nor  know  we  what  is  small, 

But  we  shall  learn,  if  we  but  wait, 
That  Thou  art  All  in  All. 


43 


THE  SISTERS 

THUS  Mary  unto  Martha:     "Sister  mine, 
It  sometimes  seemeth  me  that  all  shall 
dwell, 
In  everlastingness.     Can  any  tell?" 

"Ah  no,  refine 
Men  may  the  gold,  earth  of  the  very  earth 
Even  as  we,  until  a  kingly  crown 
It  shines  forevermore,  but  at  each  birth 
Corruption  doth  its  hateful  seed  implant, 
And  at  the  last,  when  shuddering  flesh  lays 

down 
The  galling  load,  it  doth  its  triumphs  vaunt  — 
Lord  God  I  the  dead  that  doth  a  day  but  lie 
Who  would  for  such  ask  immortality!" 

'T  speak  not  of  the  flesh  as  without  end, 
My  thought  thou  dost  not  rightly  comprehend, 
Nor  hardly  can  I  seem  to  make  it  heard 
Unto  myself,  but  a  dear  patience  lend 
To  my  still  musings,  and  the  spoken  word 
Shall  give  them  to  the  winds  if  they  be  chaff,— 
44 


THE  SISTERS 

What  is  it  can  revive  the  banished  years, 
That  Hves  to-day  in  all  that  went  before  ?* 
Cringing  anew  at  recollected  fears, 
And  harking  back  to  joys  that  are  no  more, 
That  hears  again  a  brother's  childish  laugh 
And  brook's   voice,    as   they   babbled  each    to 

each? 
What  is  this  endlessness,  can  any  teach?" 

"  'Tis  Memory,  dear  one, 

Seek  not  out  the  things 

Too  high  for  thee, 

Nor  give  thy  vain  thought  wings." 

"Yet  life  is  shaped  by  hope  and  memory, 
The  thing  that  has  been  makes  the  thing  to  be. 
Bethink  thee,  Martha,  how  the  grape  is  bruised 
Down  trodden  in  the  press  by  him  who  flings 
Unto  pollution  what  he  will,  but  loosed 
From  out  the  fruit,  behold  a  shape 
Poised  at  the  brim !     And  yet  the  cup  doth  hold 
Not    that   which    is    but   that   which    was   the 

grape— 
That  is  my  meaning  told : 
May  Death  not  crush  and  bruise 
That  only  to  set  loose 
Which  makes  of  Martha,  thee. 
And  Mary  makes  of  me. 
Dost  comprehend 
My  thoughts'  far  end^" 
45 


THE  SISTERS 

"I  comprehend, 
That  if  thou  speakest  truth, 
There  is  no  room  for  ruth. 
Thy  dream  doth  make  it  plain, 
All  should  then  live  again ! 
A  malefactor  on  the  cross 
His  being  spent  and  cursed,  might  toss 
Into  the  wine-press  (which  in  parable) 
Thou  likest  unto  death.     It  is  not  well 
To  see  but  visions,  and  to  live  in  dreams, 
To  trim  the  starry  lamps  we  are  not  bid, 
Nor  are  we  set  to  gild  the  morning  beams, 
The  holy  things  of  God  are  ever  hid — " 

"  Yet  to  the  meek  are  mysteries  revealed 

That  to  the  wise  and  prudent  still  are  sealed, 

What  if  turn  given  me. 

My  being's  Self  to  see 

When  death  has  brought  my  being  to  an  end, 

Communing  with  an  ever-living  Friend, 

E'en  Love  who  with  us  sometimes  comes  to  sup 

That  were  indeed  the  wine  within  the  cup ' 

And  yet  I  cannot  fathom  deep  my  mind 

Nor  learn  what  is  this  Self  in  me  I  find. 

Oh,  if  thou  knowest,  Martha,  tell  it  me 

For  dreamer  of  dreams  I    am: — " 

"Yea,  verily. 
But  I  am  of  the  day, 
And  love  all  near  familiar  things, 
46 


THE  SISTERS 

E'en  the  recurring  disarray 

One  duty  to  another  brings, 

And  while  God  gives  the  needful  grain, 

'Tis  we  must  make  the  bread  men  eat. 

To  smooth  rough  places  plain 

For  aching  feet 

Is  woman's  task, 

Nor  may  I  ask 

Aught  else  of  God  the  Lord 

Than  this,  to  spread  the  couch  and  lay  the 

board 
I  know  not  of  the  worlds  that  lie 
Beyond  the  blueness  of  the  sky 
Nor  am  I  quelled  to  suppliant  awe 
Save  by  the  Tablets  of  the  Law 
Whereon  I  learn  God  steadies  with  the  smart 
Of  the  compelling  duty,  woman's  heart." 

"Beloved,  bear  with  me. 
Is  there  not  that  in  thee 
Which  thou  canst  never  name  ? 
That  values  its  own  praise  or  blame. 
And  can  behold  itself,  yet  peer 
Beyond  the  verge  of  things,  a  seer? 
I  know  not  why,  but  ever  in  my  ears 
I  hear  the  murmur  of  unending  years 
Like  an  immortal  sea  on  mortal  shore, 
Where  tides  of  being  rise  forevermore 
Above  and  yet  above, 

47 


THE  SISTERS 

Drawn  by  the  Orb  of  Love 

In  luminous  access. 

So  may  we  live  in  everlastingness, 

If  else,  would  I  had  died  e'er  He  came  by, 

Nay!     Having  seen  Him  who  can  ever  die! 

These  were  the  Sisters  twain 
Of  Lazarus,  whom  Jesus  loved 
And  raised  up  from  the  dead  again. 


48 


RECOMPENSE 

WHAT  is  the  guerdon  of  patience? 
I  ask  the  tranquil  sky ; 
And  the  steadfast  stars  make  answer, 
"More  patience  by  and  by." 


49 


A  MOOD 

AH  God,  to  hunger  where  there  is  no  food, 
To  thirst  where  never  water  may  be  found. 
To  yearn  for  harmony  where  is  no  sound, 
To  know  but  ill  and  yet  to  crave  the  good. 
Doing  the  wrong,  and  not  the  thing  I  would. 
To  see  Sin  triumph.  Right  brought  to  the  ground 
Lies  going  up  and  down  the  earth.  Truth  bound. 
This,  this  it  is  that  makes  my  present  m.ood : 

Dear  God,  to  waken  thus  from  Youth's  sweet 

dream 
I  could  not  know,  and  none  foretold  my  fate! 
To  live  to  see  Truth's  robe  without  a  seam 
Parted  and  torn  by  Sham  and  Cant  and  Hate ! 
If  growing  old  be  finding  nothing  true 
I  would  that  I  had  died  when  life  was  new. 


50 


THE  SCAPEGOAT 

ALIEN  from  God  and  man, 
Neath  every  creature's  ban, 
Nay,  tell  me  now 
What  meanest  Thou "' 
Men  gave  Thee  to  the  Lord  to  bless, 
Then  drove  Thee  to  the  Wilderness, 
Laden  with  sin 
His  grace  to  win, 
Into  the  desert  vast, 
And  shelterless  and  waste. 
With  never  a  stark  Tree 
Set  on  a  Calvary — 
Alas,  what  boots  it  Thou  shouldst  be 
Hallowed  for  such  a  destiny. 

The  Voice  of  one  deep  in  the  wild 

Yet  with  no  cry 
To  freely  give  Thy  life  for  men, 
Yet  not  to  die! — 
And  may  the  life  begun  in  prayer 
End  in  perdition  of  despair, 
Or  that  which  God  blessed  at  the  first 
Be  by  the  world's  offenses  cursed? 
My  Soul,  heed  thee! 
51 


THE  SCAPEGOAT 

Why  dost  thou  rage 

And  beat  the  air, — 

Serve  thou  thine  age 

Accept  thy  lot, 

Thou  canst  not  be 

Where  He  is  not, 

On,  onward  fare — 
God  in  the  Wilderness  alway 
Is  fire  by  night  and  cloud  by  day. 
The  House  of  Bondage  is  His  own, 
And  in  the  contrite  heart,  His  Throne. 


PARAPHRASE   OF   THE   ONE   HUNDRED 
AND   THIRTIETH    PSALM 

IF  Thou  be  author,  Lord, 
Of  my  adversity. 
Out  of  the  depths  I  Hft  my  voice, 

In  bUnding  fear  to  Thee. 
E'en  as  a  woman's  heart 

Is  tuned  her  child  to  hear 
Above  the  storm.  Oh,  patient  God, 
To  me  incHne  Thine  ear. 

With  Thee  forgiveness  is. 

Yet  there  is  none  may  know 
Why  Thou  shouldst  cast  Thy  servant  down 

And  let  the  scoffer  go. 

Nay,  wait  my  soul  on  God, 

Thy  hope  shall  not  be  vain. 
Wait  thou,  as  one  who  vigil  keeps 

Beside  the  bed  of  pain. 

Still,  still  let  Israel  trust 

Though  eyes  be  made  to  weep, 
The  Love  that  watches  over  us, 

Slumbereth  not  nor  sleeps. 
53 


THE  130TH  PSALM 

Out  of  the  depths  I  call, 
Love  will  attend  my  cr}^ 

For  close  upon  the  vale  of  woe, 
The  hills  of  God  do  he. 


54 


THE  BURIAL 

LORD  Christ  in  heaven,  look  down  and  mark 
This  httle  grave  new-made, 
The  broken  hearts  low  bending  here 
Anguished  and  sore  dismayed. 

That  looking  up  they  may  behold 

In  the  black  clouds  that  span 
The  sky  alcove  their  heads,  a  foim 

Like  to  the  Son  of  Man. 

Lift  Thou  their  eyes  Compassionate 

From  falling  clod  on  clod, 
Thou  art  the  Resurrection 

And  the  Life,  Thou  Son  of  God. 

But  dust  to  dust  and  earth  to  earth, 

We  cannot  choose  but  see, 
Since  Life  to  Life,  O,  risen  Christ 

Is  hid  in  God,  with  Thee — 

Nay,  death  must  be,  if  we  would  rise 

Beyond  all  mortal  ken, 
Into  Thine  Everlastingness, 

Soul  of  our  souls — Amen. 
55 


BEREFT 

THE  spring  has  come  again,  dear  Heart; 
Dear  Heart,  the  spring  has  come! 
He  does  not  stir,  though  echoes  start. 
To  hear  the  news  from  home. 

The  hving  tide,  not  born  of  seas, 

The  mystic  tide  of  sap. 
Is  at  the  full  in  all  the  trees, 

And  daisies  climb  earth's  lap. 

What  boots  it,  since  he  does  not  know  ^ 

The  clod  lies  heavily 
Upon  his  pulseless  heart;  and,  oh, 

There  is  no  spring  for  me  I 


56 


THEN  AND  NOW 

O  HAPPY  radiant  hours  when  we  were  young, 
When  every  passing  day,  bright  and  more 
bright , 
A  gem  upon  hfe's  slender  thread  was  strung, 
That  flashed  resplendent  in  the  morning  light. 

Our  days,  now  we  are  old,  are  dim  dull  beads. 

Seen  through  our  tears  and  in  the  waning  sun, 
Making  a  rosary  for  evening's  needs, 

Whereon  we'll  tell  our  prayers  till  life  be  done. 


57 


THE  DAUGHTER  OF  THE  MAYFLOWER 

HER  name,  if  "Mindwell"  or  "Submit," 
Was  far  less  farcical  than  fit ; 
For,  mark  you,  she  lived  up  to  it. 

And  that  sublimely. 
To  serve  her  spouse,  her  only  art. 
He  to  her  tombstone  would  im.part 
Praises,  that  might  have  warmed  her  heart. 
Had  they  been  timely. 

She  lay  down  late  and  early  rose; 
Her  manners  had  not  that  repose 
Blue  blood  confers,  one  must  suppose, 

Yet  own  her  merit. 
At  sweet  saints  rapturous  in  a  niche, 
She'd  rail  and  turn  her  nose  up,  which 
Fixed  there,  mayhap,  the  vocal  pitch 
Her  sons  inherit. 

Through  pioneer  vicissitude 
She  scrimped  and  scraped  and  baked  and  brewed 
With  unremitting  fortitude, 
That  shames  the  sages. 
58 


DAUGHTER  OF  THE  MAYFLOWER 

Scripture  she  read,  and  almanac, 
With  nought  beside,  unless,  alack, 
And  as  it  were,  behind  her  back, 
"Hudibras"'  pages. 

But  all  things  come  to  those  who  wait. 
Such  an  arch  satirist  is  fate 
Aiming  its  arrows,  soon  or  late 

No  marksman  bolder 
The  Puritanic  dame,  ah  me! 
Surviving  in  her  progeny 
As  flower  of  our  plutocracy 

To-day  behold  her ! 


59 


THE  FIREFLY 

WHAT  art  thou,  gleam  of  light 
That  evening  brings, 
Art  insect,  soul,  or  sprite, 
On  lucid  wings? 

Art  thou  a  beacon  clear 

Lighting  the  poles 
Of  atoms  struggling  near 

While  matter  rolls ! 

Art  thou  a  shaft  of  fire 

Burning  to  guide 
Fugitives  from  the  ire 

Of  force  defied ' 

Thou  hast  no  need  of  sun 

Nor  moon's  sheer  light 
Thou  self-illumined  one 

Unawed  of  night. 

Thou  art  a  nether  star 

Thy  firmament 
Earth,  yet  it  cannot  mar 

Thy  sweet  content, 
60 


THE  FIREFLY 

Art  like  a  Poet  strong 

Soothing  the  night 
With  sweetest,  grandest  song 

Whose  theme  is — Light ! 

Teach  me  thy  radiant  art, 

I  too  would  sing, 
Out  of  a  glowing  heart 

My  song  would  bring. 

And  would  in  times  of  blight, 

Darkness  and  din. 
Be  led  by  living  light 

Fed  from  within. 


A  QUESTION:     PACKER  '69 
Music:    Lamiger  Horatius 

TIS  a  point  I  long  to  know, 
Oft  it  causes  anxious  thought, 
Shall  I  graduate  or  no? 

Shall  I  get  through  or  shall  I  not? 
Happy  me,  O  happy  me 

If  in  June  next  I'm  set  free; 
Happy  me,  O  happy  me 

If  in  June  next  I'm  set  free. 

Butler  fills  my  soul  with  dread, 

Havens,  Perkins,  Draper,  too, 
Ye  of  mighty  intellect, 

Tell  me  was  it  so  with  you  ? 
Happy  me,  O  happy  me 

If  in  June  next  I'm  set  free, 
Happy  me,  O  happy  me 

If  in  June  next  I'm  set  free. 

May  I  but  a  sheepskin  grasp. 

Weak  and  trembling  though  I  am, 

May  the  wind  be  tempered  to 
Every  shorn  and  sorry  lamb ! 
62 


A  QUESTION:   PACKER  '69 

Happy  me,  0  happy  me 
If  in  June  next  I'm  set  free, 

Happy  me,  0  happy  me 

If  in  June  next  I'm  set  free. 


63 


SALUTATORY 

THE  spring's  bright  days  have  come  and  gone 
And  summer  flowers  are  springing 
Beneath  our  feet  and  summer  birds 
Their  sweetest  songs  are  singing. 

Once  more  as  in  times  past,  we  take 

Our  old  accustomed  places 
Before  the  same  kind  audience, 

The  same  familiar  faces. 

Welcome,  thrice  welcome  to  you  all, 
To  you  our  friends  and  neighbors. 

Whose  blessings  and  whose  wishes  kind 
Have  lightened  all  our  labors. 

And  to  our  teachers  tried  and  true 

Our  grateful  hearts  shall  ever 
Cherish  their  lessons,  and  our  love 

Nor  time  nor  death  shall  sever. 


64 


FAREWELL 

ONE  more  glad  year  has  sunk  to  rest 
And  now  round  Alma  Mater  rises 
Another  class  to  call  her  blest 
And  at  her  feet  to  lay  her  prizes. 

Are  we  all  here?     Yes,  all  are  here, — 
Because  one's  gone  we're  not  divided. 

"Procul  Adeste"  she  is  near. 
Is  w4th  us  by  the  angels  guided. 

Back  from  the  old  world  to  the  new, 

From  new  scenes  back  to  old  hearts  dearer, 

Thank  God  what  Science  cannot  do 

Love  can,  it  need  but  say  "come  nearer." 

So  now,  an  undivided  band. 

We'll  sing  our  happy  school  days  over. 
And  here  this  hour  as  with  one  hand 

Write  down  "The  End"  and  close  the  cover. 

Farewell — and  farewell  to  that  band 
Who  on  dear  old  Packer's  good  intent 

Have  joined  in  mind  and  heart  and  hand 
And  farewell  to  our  President. 

And  let  us  thank  him  for  the  lesson  taught 

Only  the  useful  life's  with  pleasure  fraught. 
^  5  65 


FAREWELL 

Farewell  to  him  who  for  so  long 

Has  at  the  helm  stood  steadfast,  ready 

Guiding  with  skillful  hand  and  strong 
Each  new  class'  bark  howe'er  unsteady. 

To  all  our  guides  we'll  farewell  say, 
Theirs  is  the  blessing  rich  that  hovers 

O'er  them  that  first  have  trod  the  way 
Then  turned  to  show  it  unto  others. 

We're  poor  in  words,  have  naught  to  give 
But  love  to  you, — are  words  love's  token? 

Vain  empty  words  ? — may  we  all  live 
To  prove  what  here  cannot  be  spoken. 

You  who  as  Seniors  soon  shall  stand — 

There,  don't  shrink  back,  we  won't  address 
you — 

No,  no  dear  'Seventy,'  give  your  hand, 
We'll  only  say — good-bye,  God  bless  you. 

Such  love  as  ours,  old  Sixty-nine, 
Can  land  or  ocean  broad  dissever? 

Is  ours  the  friendship,  yours  and  mine, 
That  must  walk  hand  in  hand  forever? 

But  then  for  the  love  in  the  eyes — 
The  voice — no  we  cannot  dissemble 

The  grief  that  in  our  hearts  will  rise, 

The  tears  that  neath  our  lids  will  tremble. 
66 


FAREWELL 

But  we  are  selfish,  weak  and  fond, 
We  only  think  of  our  to-morrow; 

Forgetting  all  that  lies  beyond 

These  partings  in  this  world  of  sorrow. 

We  thank  Thee,  Lord,  for  these  blest  days 
That  tell  old  Sixt3^-Tiine's  life  story — 

Amen,  Amen,  Thine  be  the  praise 
As  Thine  the  Power  and  the  Glory. 


67 


THE  vSEVENTIES 

OH,  life  was  sweet  in  the  Seventies, 
Were  ever  such  peerless  girls, 
Were  ever  dissolved  in  the  cup  of  joy, 
Before  or  since,  such  pearls! 

Oh,  the  ideals  and  the  day-dreams, 

Were  lofty  as  rainbows  are 
In  the  hearts  of  those  whose  nursery -rhymes 

Had  been  the  songs  of  "The  War." 

Life  was  greatest  in  the  Seventies; — 

Ah  no,  'tis  as  great  to-day, 
Youth,  youth  is  the  pearl  in  life's  chalice 

Be  the  decade  what  it  may. 


68 


GOLDEN  JUBILEE  SONG:  i\L\Y  15,   1903 
Tunes:  The  So?i   of  God — Dundee. 

ALMA    MATER 

THY  daughters  of  the  yester-year, 
Thy  daughters  of  to-day, 
We  come,  we  come,  O  Mater  dear, 

Our  homage  meet  to  pa}^ 
Though  we  may  wander  far  and  wide,— 

Love  knows  nor  here  nor  there, — - 
Wherever  borne  by  time  and  tide 
Thy  name  and  seal  we  bear. 

The  brilHance  of  the  morning  born 

May  to  the  cloud  give  place; 
Thy  laurel  for  an  hour  worn 

Ma\^  fade  and  leave  no  trace. 
But  thou,  O  Mater,  dost  impart 

An  immemorial  gleam: 
Thy  palm  is  for  the  true  of  heart 

Unto  the  heavenly  dream. 

We  bring  the  homage  of  our  love. 

And  all  our  loyalty; 
We  lift  one  hallowed  prayer  above, 

Learned  at  thy  parent-knee : 
69 


GOLDEN   JUBILEE  SONG 

"0  God,  our  help  in  ages  past, 
Our  hope  for  years  to  come, 

Be  thou  our  guide  while  life  shall  last. 
And  our  eternal  home."     Amen. 


70 


SONG,  1873 

I  WANDER  alone  in  the  gloaming, 
Where  we  wandered,  we  two  on  the  shore, 
The  wild  waves  have  ceased  their  sad  moaning, 
A  hush  broods  o'er  all  as  of  yore. 

In  the  silence  I  listen — and  listen, 
For  a  voice  that  was  music  to  me — 

The  last  rays  upon  the  waves  glisten, 
And  the  sun  sinks  to  rest  in  the  sea. 

So  the  light  of  my  life  has  departed, 

I  shall  see  it  again  nevermore. 
Alone,  love,  alone  broken-hearted, 

I  wander  at  night  on  the  shore. 

Yet  I  know  as  I  linger  at  even. 

By  the  tryst,  love,  and  yearning  for  thee. 
That  thou  too  art  waiting  in  heaven, 

On  the  shores  of  the  Jasper  sea ! 


A  NEW  OFFERTORY  HYMN 
Tune:  Greemvood 

ALL  things,  dear  God,  are  Thine; 
We  would  give  back  to  Thee 
The  tithe  Thou  didst  of  old  exact, 
That  men  our  works  may  see. 

May  all  our  alms  and  deeds 
Rise  up  before  Thy  sight. 

In  memory  of  Him  who  turned 
Our  darkness  into  Hght ! 


72 


RENUNCIATION 

IF  to  be  saved  from  self, 
If  to  be  Christian  be  thine  aim, 
Cut  off  thine  hand,  if  it  offend, 
Pluck  out  thine  eye,  if  its  glance  tend 
Toward  selfish  ease  or  greed  or  shame 
Thou  canst  not  thus  thy  spirit  maim; 
At  last  complete,  it  shall  ascend, 
Thou  ownest  it  dross,  if  fearful  friend, 
To  fling  thy  metal  in  the  flame ! 


73 


THE  PULPIT  AND  THE  PEWS 

WHETHER  asleep  or  waking,  who  shall  say  ? 
Not  I,  for  one,  but,  be  that  as  it  may, 
The  aged  organist  avows  he  heard 
What  here  shall  be  related,  word  for  word. 
A  man  devout  he  was  and  true,  who  mused 
Much  on  eternal  things,  and  wide  diffused 
Through  old  St.  Calvin's  arches  high  and  dim 
The  echo  of  the  heavenly  seraphim, 
On  Sundays  and  at  wedding  festivals, 
At  costly  christenings  and  at  funerals, — 
But  I  digress;  that  which  he  told  to  me 
Must  be  set  down  without  more  parley. 

He 
Affirms  it  happened  on  a  Sunday  night 
At  service  close,  if  I  remember  right, 
'Somewhere  about  the  early  part  of  June. 
The  last  strain  of  a  dear  familiar  tune 
Throbs  in  the  organ's  mighty  heart,  while  he, 
The  player,  holds  the  chord  caressingly. 
The  bustling  sexton  hurries  here  and  there 
Extinguishing  the  Hghts,  the  sexes  pair. 
Until  at  last  the  stragglers  all  are  gone 
And  in  the  church  the  dreamer  is  alone. 
74 


THE  PULPIT  AND  THE  PEWS 

He  knows  not,  if  he  slept,  when  he  awoke; 
But  certifies  to  this:  the  Pulpit  spoke. 

The  Pulpit 
I  long  have  meant  to  speak  a  word,  dear  Pews, 
Upon  a  theme  on  which  I  fear  your  views 
Are  sadly  lax.     About  this  subject  vext 
And  ramified,  were  I  to  preach,  my  text 
You'd  in  Ecclesiastes  find,  writ  plain, 
So  plain  no  wayfarer  may  read  in  vain. 
But  better  an  informal  talk  I  deem 
With  what  the  preacher  speaketh  as  a  theme. 
In  chapter  seventh,  verse  the  sixth,  is  this: 
"Like  crackling  thorns  beneath  a  pot,  so  is 
The  laughter  of  a  fool" — which  personage. 
Undoubtedly,  dear  friends,  the  ancient  sage 
Meant  should  personify  the  skeptic,  he 
Whose  outbursts  of  denial  prove  to  be 
As  fatuous  as  crackling  thorns  that  burn 
To  dust  and  ashes  for  all  men  to  spurn. 
Or,  if  you  like,  agnostic  we  shall  call 
Him  who  believes  he  can  send  to  the  wall 
With  sneering  laughter  the  ineffable 
Lentil  all  tests  are  found  infallible. 
Which  cachinnation  as  innocuous  is 
As  is  the  burning  branches'  fitful  hiss. 

Third  Peiv 
If  this,  dear  Pulpit,  be  a  colloquy, 
I'd  like  to  ask  a  question. 
75 


THE  PULPIT  AND  THE  PEWS 

The  Pulpit 

Certainly. 

Third  Pew 

If  so  the  crackling  thorn  is  laugh  of  fools, 

As  to  the  pot's  contents,  how  teach  the  schools  i^ 

Is  it  the  seething  caldron  of  theology 

In  this  our  day  ?     Kindly  enlighten  me. 

I'd  like  the  "solid  contents, "  as  it  were. 

Of  that  same  pot. 

The  Pulpit 

Precisely  I  aver 
The  "solid  contents"  a  known  point  to  be 
Of  mathematics,  not  theology, 
Which  sort  of  "point,"  as  scientists  conclude, 
"Position"  has,  but  never  "magnitude." 
And  hence  we  see  as  at  a  single  glance 
Your  question's  utter  insignificance! 
Said  I  not,  brethren,  that  ye  all  are  lax. 
E'en  now  see  Science  rear  her  head  and  tax 
The  Word  for  revenue  of  fact.     Now  I 
Am  one  that  holds,  as  all  can  testify, 
That  Science  in  no  fearful  jeopardy 
Places  our  holy  Faith,  but  rather  she 
Becomes  more  like  a  little  child  each  day 
With  pebbles  by  the  sea  of  Truth  at  play. 
The  vessel  and  its  contents  matter  not. 
The  import  of  the  metaphor. 

76 


THE  PULPIT  AND  THE  PEWS 

Fifth  Peiv 

The  pot 
Is  metaphor.     Like  crackHng  of  the  thorns 
Beneath,  the  laughter  of  the  fool  that  scorns — 
Your  pardon,  but  I'd  like  much  to  inquire 
If  a  similitude  you  hold  the  fire. 

The  Pulpit 

Aha!     Dear  friends,  I  beg  of  you,  to  mark 
That  we  are  never  left  quite  in  the  dark 
As  to  essentials  in  the  written  Word, 
Or  to  the  "points,"  "Five  Points"  as  you  have 
heard. 

Fifth  Pew 

Which  being  all  unmathematical 

It  surely  cannot  be  heretical 

To  hold  that  Calvin's  "points"  have  magnitude 

But  no  position,  or  as  I  conclude, 

None  that  at  this  late  date  is  tenable, 

Nor,  sir,  to  reason  quite  amenable! 

First  Pew 

Brother,  you  do  forget  yourself  to  speak 

Thus    in    the    Pulpit's    presence.      Where    the 

meek 
Receive  the  earth,  you  never  need  aspire! — 
But  we  are  speaking,  I  believe,  of  fire. 
77 


THE  PULPIT  AND  THE  PEWS 

The  Pulpit 

We  were,  dear  brethren;  please  to  mark  this  well, 

In  Holy  Writ  it  symbolizes  Hell 

Invariably.     And  please  to  notice  next. 

The  fool,  who  is  the  subject  of  our  text, 

Will  find  at  last  that  which  he  held  before 

As  highly  colored  Hebrew  metaphor 

To  be  a  veritable  lake  of  fire 

Fed  by  an  angry  God's  eternal  ire, 

Which  shall  devour,  without  consuming,  all 

To  whom  he  never  willed  effectual  call. 

Hence,  friends,  and  finally,  observe  I  pray, 

Since  he  who  laughs  best,  laughs  the  last,  how 

they 
Who  hold  the  doctrines  from  expediency, 
If  from  no  higher  cause,  at  last  shall  be 
Found   at    the    Right    Hand   with    the   blessed 

sheep. 
While  fools  and  scoffers  gnash  their  teeth  and 

weep. 

Galleries   {singing) 

"Lead  Kindly  Light,  amid  the  encircling  gloom. 

Lead  Thou  me  on. 
The  night  is  dark  and  I  am  far  from  home, 

Lead  Thou  me  on. 
Keep  Thou  my  feet,  I  do  not  ask  to  see 
The  distant  scene,  one  step  enough  for  me." 
78 


THE  PULPIT  AND  THE  PEWS 
Ninth  Pew 

You  can't  alarm  me  with  a  sulphurous  smell; 
I  don't  believe  in  it.     'Tis  very  well 
To  frighten  boys  with,  whom  you  chance  to  see 
Purloining  apples  from  your  favorite  tree. 
They  will  disgorge  and  run,  but,  all  the  same, 
I  find  the  present  cane,  than  threat  of  flame. 
Far  more  persuasive,  in  such  cases.     Then 
We  are  not  told  that  our  first  parents,  when 
Caught  in  a  like  offense  (and  I  must  say 
If  ever  there  were  sinners  it  was  they), 
Were  threatened  with  the  fire  that  quenches  not, 
But  dealt  with  most  summarily  on  the  spot. 
Why  was  no  mention  made  of  endless  Hell 
In  that  stupendous  moment,  please  to  tell? 

Last  Pew 

O  brother,  don't  you  know?     That  story,  now, 
Is  held  an  allegory,  and  I  vow 
That  squelches  every  theory  for  me 
Of  doom  before  or  after,  don't  you  see! 
There's  quite  enough  to  set  my  soul  aflame 
Right  here  in  church  w^here  I  would  save  the 

same. 
One  thing  is  what  the  Psalmist  calls  the  scorn 
Of  those  that  are  at  ease  night,  noon,  and  morn. 
Of  course  St.  Calvin,  rich  and  prosperous. 
Is  not  intended  for  the  like  of  us. 
79 


THE  PULPIT  AND  THE  PEWS 

The  Pulpit 

You  shame  its  teachings,  brother,  speaking  so; 
Is  not  salvation  free,  I'd  Hke  to  know? 

Last  Pew 

It  used  to  be  and  may  be  so  again, 

And  in  a  sense  it  is  so  now,  but  then, 

While  free  to  milhonaires  and  such,  the  crumbs 

Are  flung  to  mission  chapels  in  the  slums. 

I've  been  there,  at  a  chapel  where  a  youth    , 

Sprouted  a  pair  of  whiskers  with  the  truth, 

And  told  us  if  we  all  were  poor  and  low 

It  was  because  the  Father  loved  us  so. 

But  if  we'd  every  evil  habit  cast. 

And  be  real  good,  that  we  might  go  at  last 

To  great  St.  Calvin  and  be  rich,  you  know. 

Ninth  Pew 

Aha,  my  brother,  you  don't  have  to  go 

To  mission  chapels  only,  to  be  told 

That  righteousness  Is  worth  its  weight  in  gold  ! 

Nor  to  behold,  held  up  before  your  eyes, 

For  spiritual  effort,  worldly  prize. 

The  Pulpit 

And  with  authority  the  Psalmist  says, 
Who  loves  Jerusalem  and  all  her  ways 
Shall  prosper  largely  here  and  evermore. 
But  never  they  who  in  her  seek  a  sore — • 
80 


THE  PULPIT  AND  THE  PEWS 

Bear  that  in  mind,  you  carping  cavilers, 
Time  was  the  Pulpit  silenced  swaggerers ! 

Camp  Chair  (in  aisle) 
Sirs,  for  my  brother  I've  a  remedy, — 
I,  too,  have  felt  the  scorner's  scorn  as  he, — 
Perhaps  I  have  no  right  to  take  the  floor. 
As  I'm  no  pew-holder,  but  a  furor 
Ecclesiastical,  my  friends,  finds  me 
All  there, — as  on  a  flower's  breast,  the  bee! 
But  that's  not  to  the  point.     Plebians  mine, 
For  Indigence  you  need  no  longer  whine. 
Thank  God  that  libraries  are  now  quite  free. 
Take  out  a  favorite  volume,  come  with  me 
Beyond  the  city's  din,  the  churches  frown. 
Beside  some  little  hymning  brook  sit  down 
Beneath  a  tree  and  open  wide  your  heart. 
Likewise  your  book;  'twill  always  take  your  part. 
'Twill  never  ask  3^ou  if  you  wear  a  ring 
Or  purple  and  fine  linen,  never  sting 
With  side-long  glance,  and  the  great  company, 
Apostles,  heroes,  martyrs,  saints,  shall  be 
Who  fold  their  wings  and  straightway  come  to 

meet 
E'en  me  the  staggering  make-shift  of  a  seat ! 

Middle  Pew 
'Tis  Emerson,  I  think,  who  says  he  likes 
A  church,  a  priest,  and  all  the  rest,  that  strikes 
Right  home. 

6  8i 


THE  PULPIT  AND  THE  PEWS 

The  Pulpit 

Ah,  you  would  lend  your  patronage 
To  Christ's  own  Temple,  where  himself  in  rage 
Scourged  the  blasphemers ! 

Camp  Chair 

Now,  then,  Brother  Pew! 
The  reverend  gentleman  cannot  mean  you 
By   "blasphemers."     Come,   let   us  have   your 
view. 

Middle  Pew 

Just  one  word  more,  please,  I'm  so  tired  out 
By  business  all  the  week,  and  bile  and  doubt. 
That  when  the  Sunday  comes  I  only^now 
I  love  to  steal  a  while  away  and  go 
Into  the  Tabernacle  with  the  blest, 
And  feel  that  one  day  we  shall  be  at  rest 
Where  that  for  which  all  things  on  earth  are  sold 
Our  feet  shall  tread  on,  for  the  streets  are  gold ! 

Fifth  Pew 

I  hold  with  you,  my  brother.     So  I  love 
God's  Temple,  image  of  the  house  above 
Not  made  with  hands.     I  love  the  Sacred  Word 
And,   too,  the  voiceless  prayers,  heard  of  the 

Lord 
No  less  than  those  on  winged  words  that  rise- 
Like  incense  from  the  place  of  sacrifice. 
82 


THE  PULPIT  AND  THE  PEWS 

Where  in  His  name  are  gathered  two  or  three 

Has  He  not  promised  there  Himself  to  be  ? 

It  is  not  good  for  man  to  be  alone; 

And  books,  my  friends,  have  offered  me  a  stone 

W^hen  I  have  hungered.     But  whene'er  I  sought 

The  very  Presence  in  His  earthly  court, 

I  have  drunk  quenching  waters  and  been  fed 

At  His  own  table  with  a  living  bread. 

Ninth  Pew 

And  I — I  am  a  wanderer  from  the  fold. 

I  fall  an  easy  prey  to  greed  of  gold 

And  worldly  temptings,  but  I  feel  within 

As  here  I  muse  a  hatred  of  the  sin 

That  drags  me  earthward  and  prevents  my  soul 

That  longs  to  press  on  to  the  heavenly  goal, 

Free  from  the  bonds  that  bind,  the  aims  that  ban, 

To  run  the  race  that  worthy  is  a  man. 

Side  Pew 

It  is  not  thus  with  me.     The  agony 
Upon  my  prostrate  soul  lies  heavily 
Of  this  discordant  world.     To  me  it  wears 
A  woman's  look  in  pain,  who  hardly  dares 
To  lift  her  eyes  upon  the  thing  she  bears. 
Such  monsters  she  has  borne  of  sin  and  shame 
That  her  fair  offspring  blush  to  own  her  name. 
The  needless  woe,  the  torture  undeserved. 
The  good  man  stricken  down,  the  bad  preserved 
83 


THE  PULPIT  AND  THE  PEWS 

The  rude  awakening  from  Youth's  bright  dream; 
The  witnessing  Truth's  robe  without  a  seam 
Parted  and  torn  b}-  shame,  and  cant  and  hate; 
Disaster  whose  repair  comes  late,  too  late; 
The  growing  old  and  finding  little  true, 
The  wishing  we  had  died  when  life  was  new, — 
These  sights  and  sounds  unutterably  sad 
Bid  my  soul  seek  a  balm  in  Gilead. 

Fifth  Pew 

Turn  hither  ward  the  foot  that  well-nigh  slips, 
And  God  shall  put  a  new  song  on  A^our  lips. 
Come,    friends,    with    me.     I    love    her    every 

part, 
Christ's  church  on  earth  for  which  His  lonely 

heart 
Bled  on  the  cross.     I  hear  the  preacher's  call 
The  reading  of  the  Word,  but  more  than  all 
I  love  the  hymns :  for  they  bring  back  to  me 
Old  memories;  and  pictures  dear  I  see 
Of  faces  all  exultant,  sad  or  shy. 
Of  lips   that  w^hite    and   trembling   said   good- 
bye. 
Of  eyes  that  shone  once,  and  only  once,  bright 
With  an  effulgent  glory  from  the  white 
Throne  of  God,  then  closed  forevermore. 
I  seem  to  stand  upon  the  very  shore 
And  watch  the  sunrise  of  that  endless  day 
Wherein,  if  naught  else,  tears  are  wiped  away. 
84 


THE  PULPIT  AND  THE  PEWS 

Galleries  (singijio^) 

*'So  long  thy  power  hath  led  me,  sure  it  still 

Will  lead  me  on, 
O'er  moor  and  fen.  o'er  crag  and  torrent,  till 

The  night  is  gone. 
Then"  with  the  morn  those  angel  faces  smile 
Which  I  have  loved  long  since  but  lost  awhile." 

Just  here  the  organist  was  made  aware 
That  from  the  keyboard  fell  his  fingers,  where 
They  all  this  time  had  held  in  cloudland  awed 
The  "Lux  Benigna's"  last  triumphant  chord. 


85 


''IT  IS  EXPEDIENT" 

O  WISDOM,  not  of  Earth  and  deep  as  Heaven, 
Thyself  a  Substitute,  a  good  but  lent, 
Not  more  to  Thee  than  to  us  all,  was  given, 
Thou,  too,  sought  refuge  in  expedient. 

The  Infant,  from  its  home  in  soft  caresses, 
Cries  for  the  moon,  but  is  at  last  appeased. 

In  tiny  palms  the  shining  coin  it  presses. 
Accepts  the  loving  subterfuge  well  pleased, 

To  men  and  women  in  the  cot  and  palace. 
Whose  youth   prized   nought   but   Love   and 
Truth  and  Fame 

Drinking  Life's  waters  from  a  brimming  chalice. 
Make  shift  to  quaff  dark  Lethe  from  the  same. 

The  soul  sighs  doubly  for  its  native  Heaven, 
Its  home,  its  Father,  and  its  element, 

But  learns  to  wait,  accepts  the  mandate  given, — 
And  Life  itself  is  an  expedient. 


86 


FRIAR  BENEDICT'S  PRAYER 

FRIAR  BENEDICT,  a  just  man  and  good 
Most  loved  and  cherished  by  the  brother- 
hood 
Of  saints,  lay  on  his  dying  bed. 
As  the  sands  of  life  ran  out  one  by  one 
And  the  radiant  beams  of  the  morning  sun 
Through  the  iron  bars  of  the  window  fell 
On  the  cold  stone  wall  of  the  friar's  cell 
The  sick  man  started  and  faintly  said : 

"My  work,  thank  God,  is  o'er! 
I  shall  never  hunger  more. 
But  to  my  home  andThee 
Father,  my  soul  shall  rise 
And  eat  of  life's  fair  tree 
In  the  midst  of  Paradise." 
At  dawn  the  friars  met  and  sadly  said 
Their  masses  round  the  friar's  dying  bed, 
And  as  they  prayed,  did  rays  of  sunlight  fall 
Upon  the  friar's  dismal  cold  stone  wall. 
Whereon  was  writ,  as  each  monk  plainly  read, 
These  words,  "Give  us  this  day  our  daily  bread.' 
This  was  the  holy  friar's  daily  prayer 
With  great  exactness  and  with  pious  care 
87 


FRIAR  BENEDICT'S  PRAYER 

He  wrote  it,  where  the  morning's  first  bright  ray 

Would  it  illumine,  so  that  through  each  day 

He  might  take  with  him  the  image  glorified 

And  with  the  image  the  prayer  sanctified. 

Upon  the  Monastery's  moss-grown  side 

An  ivy  clung  and  thus  at  matintide 

The  sunlight  streaming  through  the  window  fell 

On  the  prayer-writ  wall  of  the  friar's  cell. . 

Casting  the  shadow  of  the  ivy  where 

The  holy  man  had  cut  in  stone  his  prayer,- 

Making  illumination  richly  fraught 

With  beauty,  such  as  man's  hand  never  wrought. 

Think  not  the  holy  man  prayed  but  for  bread 

Wherewith  the  earthly  body  might  be  fed, 

No,  he  had  learned  through  sorrow,  toil  and  care 

The  utmost  meaning  of  that  blessed  prayer. 

Therefore  he  called  around  his  dying  bed 

The  friars  of  the  brotherhood  and  said: 

"  O,  brothers,  when  your  hearts  are  faint  and  worn 

When  the  great  burdens  that  so  long  you've 

borne 
Grow  each  day  heavier;  when  you'd  dash  the  cup 
From  off  your  lips,  and  give  the  labor  up — 
O,  then  throw  down  your  beads  and  foolish  arts 
And  take  your  hungry  longing  tired  hearts 
Unto  your  Saviour,  and  with  bowed  head. 
Pray  thus : — "Give  us  this  day  our  daily  bread, ' ' 
Then  go  your  way  and  God  will  show  it  thee, 
You'll  find  it  in  all  deeds  of  charity, 


FRIAR  BENEDICT'S  PRAYER 

You'll  find  it  in  the  ilowers.  the  grass,  the  trees. 
You'll  know  it  in  the  gentle  morning  breeze. 
You'll  find  it  in  the  sunset  sky  at  even. 
You'll  see  it  in  the  star-besprinkled  heaven. 
For  these  are  tokens  of  the  boundless  love 
Of  the  Almighty  one  who  rules  above. 
Which  if  we'd  take  but  as  our  spirit's  food 
We  should  be  drawn  each  hour  nearer  God." 
The  friar  ceased  to  speak  and  faintly  sighed. — 
''Rest  at  last,  brothers,  rest  at  last" — then  died. 
And  as  they  bore  him  to  his  final  rest 
Surcharged  with  sorrow  was  each  stern  monk's 

breast. 
For  Death  had  chosen  from  the  brotherhood 
The  best  beloved — Old  Benedict  the  good. 
They  laid  him  down  to  sleep  among  the  blest 
Who  long  since  went  from  earth  to  heavenly  rest ; 
Then  as  upon  the  air  with  soothing  fell 
The  soft  sweet  music  of  the  vesper  bell. 
Slowly  the  friars  wound  their  way 
Back  to  the  Monastery,  as  the  day 
Was  sinking  into  night.     But  Michael,  one 
Of  the  good  brotherhood  when  all  were  gone. 
Fell  down  upon  the  new-made  grave  and  wept. 
He.  buried  deeply  in  his  heart  had  kept 
His  sorrow  until  now,  and  now  had  come 
That  in  his  anguish  he  might  be  alone. 
When  all  that  makes  life  dear  and  blessed,  goes 
Into  the  grave  and  we  are  left  alone — 
89 


FRIAR  BENEDICT'S  PRAYER 

For  Benedict  had  loved  him  with  a  love 
Passing  the  love  of  woman,  and  above 
All  others,  had  chosen  to  call  him  "Friend." 
And  now  that  blest  companionship  must  end. 

' '  God  knows 
We  need  thee,  Benedict,"  he  cried 
"  If  Christ  had  been  w4th  us,  thou  hadst  not  died, 
With  thee,  we  lose  our  guide,  our  prop,  our  stay. 
And  there  is  now  for  us  no  one  to  pray." 
*'Thy  prayers,  0  Benedict,  were  always  heard, 
For  thou  didst  live  so  near  unto  thy  God, 
And  when  the  fever  came  and  drought,  we  might 
Have  told  our  beads  from  morning  until  night 
And  Heaven  not  heard  one  cry,  but  thou  didst 

pray 
And  wasting  drought  and  fever  passed  away." 
"But  now  thou'lt  care  no  more  for  our  complaints, 
Thrice  blessed  with  the  Father,  Son,  and  Saints — " 
"O,  Benedict,  my  brother,  thou  art  gone 
God,  give  me  patience  to  live  on  alone, 
Alone,  alone" — then  as  he  ceased  to  speak 
He  heard  a  voice  within  him  saying,  "Take 
The  good  around  thee  as  thy  spirit's  food 
And  thou  each  hour  shalt  be  drawn  near  God." 
Then  Michael  cried,  "Blest  Lord  then  not  alone, 
But  near  to  Thee,  and  to  the  dear  one  gone." 
And  the  voice  answered  him  within  his  soul, 
"Go  thou  thy  way,  thy  faith  hath  made  thee 

whole." 

90 


AN  ETCHING 

A  STRIP  of  land 
Upon  its  edge 
At  either  hand — 
Stiff  Vvdth  the  brine — 
A  fringe  of  sedge. 
A  single  hne 
That  scarce  divides 
The  sky  and  sea, 
And  running  free 
A  ship  that  rides 
Out  from  the  lands 
Whereon  there  stands 
A  girl — Ah,  me — 
Who  wrings  her  hands; 
The  day  is  done 
The  sinking  sun 
Drops  out  of  sight 
'Twill  soon  the  night 
There  in  the  west, 
I  hear  a  cry 
"Good-bye,  good-bye" 
God  knows  the  rest. 

91 


THE   EBBING   TIDE 

TWILL  cost  Hugh  a  penny  o'  money, 
To  put  me  under  the  ground, 
But  I  shall  not  hear  his  grumbling  words, 

I  shall  be  sleeping  so  sound ; 
And  in  springtime  the  dandelions 

Will  cover  my  bed  with  gold, 
And  none  to  rail  at  the  "wicked  waste" 
Of  the  little  spendthrifts  bold. 

Jim's  wife  will  come  to  the  funeral, 

She  always  knows  what  is  right, 
I  shall  not  wince  at  her  stare,  for  once 

My  hands  will  be  nice  and  white; 
I  never  did  mind  her  upstart  ways, 

I  only  thought  of  poor  Jim, 
I  never  let  on  I  saw,  for  fear 

She  would  take  it  out  of  him. 

And  the  girls  will  come  with  their  husbands 

And  cry  a  little  and  fret. 
And  think  I  might  have  done  this  and  that 

And  then  go  home  and  forget — 
But  there's  one  is  with  me  always,  he 

Who  died,  not  a  half-year  old, 
I  keep  on  dreaming,  dreaming  o'  him 

The  one  lost  lamb  of  the  fold. 
92 


THE  EBBING  TIDE 

I  used  to  think  when  I  came  to  die 

(I  hoped  'twould  be  in  the  spring) 
That  I'd  have  no  other  thought  but  God, 

And  I'd  hear  the  angels  sing. 
But  it's  really  not  like  that  at  all, 

I  go  over  night  and  day 
The  things  of  earth  I  have  longed  for  so — 

A  piano  for  Nell  to  play, 
A  sewing-machine  and  a  kitchen  range, 

But  they  never  came  my  way. 

And  now  I  have  only  one  desire, — 
Just  to  be  quit  o'  the  pain, — 

How  I  dream  I  hear  the  baby  cry. 
Hark,  there  it  is  again; 

Poor  dear  wee  Lambie,  yes  'tis  he. 
Calling  as  hard  as  he  can — 
Then,  Mother  is  coming  quick,  there,  there, 

To  her  hungry  little  man ! 

He  never  was  weaned  away  from  me 

Like  Jim  and  Nell  and  the  rest, — 
Mother  is  coming! — I  feel  again 

His  happy  lips  at  my  breast — 
And  oh,  his  eyes! — Star  answers  star — • 

They  smile  back  God's  own  smile, — 
In  that  pure  light  I  see  it  all — 

Life,  life  made  worth  the  while. 


93 


THE  MIGHT  OF  MIRTH 

THE  sick  and  sorry  gathered  near, 
The  muezzin,  at  noon,  to  hear, 
But  none,  not  one,  was  comforted 
Which  seeing,  the  sad  mufti  led 
His  steps  to  where  the  fountain  rose 
On  wings  of  spray;  in  perfect  pose 
And  guise  of  agony  superb 
He  sat  him  down  beside  the  curb ; 
With  folded  hands  and  bowed  head 
The  Hundred  Sacred  Names,  he  said, 
Adding: — "Words  light  on  tongue,  like  clods 
Lie  in  the  balance  which  is  God's." 
And  as  he  mumbles,  weeps,  and  wails, 
Comes  one,  the  "Teller"  called,  "of  Tales," 
Who  lifted  up  his  voice  and  cried, — 
"Ye  faithful  hear! 

Once  did  betide 
This  happening,  a  King  who  took 
A  city,  straightway  brought  to  book 
All  those  that  dwelt  therein,  he  made 
His  direful  purpose  known  and  bade 
Each  carry  off  his  dearest  prize 
Or  see  it  burn  before  his  eyes. 
94 


THE  MIGHT  OF  MIRTH 

Some  carried  gold,  some  food,  alack, 
But  one  retreated  with  a  sack 
To  whom  the  King  spake ; — 

"By  life's  span, 
What  hast  thou?" 

"Laughter,"  said  the  man, 
"  My  bag  is  full  of  Mirth." 

"A  thing 
I  had  forgot,"  replied  the  King, 
"Divide  with  me." 

Whereat  the  clown 
Opened  his  sack  and  set  it  down, 
"  'Tis  Allah  teacheth  Charity, 
Take  freely  what  thou  wilt, "  said  he. 
And  the  King  vanquished,  cried  aloud; — 
* '  Thy  deed  shall  save  the  city ' ' — 

Bowed 
The  "Teller  of  Good  Tales  "  and  mirth 
Gladdened  the  group,  as  sun  the  earth. 

But  the  sad  mufti  heavenward  glanced — 
'  'When  Death  shall  claim  thy  being,  canst 
Thou  then,  bold  jester,  carry  off 
A  sack  of  laughter,  wherefore  scoif  ? " 

"I  know  not.  Sire,  but  this  I  know 

'Tis  Allah  sends  both  mirth  and  woe, 

Thou  sayest,  'They  laugh  who  win,'  'tis  chaff; 

They  win,  say  I,  they  win  who  laugh!'* 

95 


MULTUM  IN  PARVO 

THE  morning-glory  tremulous  with  rain, 
Its  purple  chalice  full  to  overflowing, 
Looks  on  the  long-lived  rose  without  a  pain 
Nor  grudges  it  the  bliss  of  further  knowing. 
Its  cup  is  full,  though  morning  brief  and  bright 
Suffices  for  its  life  of  royal  splendor. 
Canst  teach  it  of  the  dew,  the  rain,  the  light? 
It  knoweth  all — has  Earth  aught  else  to  render? 

No,  no,  I  grudge  thee  not  the  coming  years, 
The  noonday's  vulgar  glare,  the  evening's  fading. 
Viewing  thy  bliss  with  eyes  undimmed  b}^  tears 
Thy  wedded  happiness  without  upbraiding ! 
Canst  tell  me,  glowing  Woman,  what  is  Love 
Nay,  I  have  known  it  to  such  perfect  measure — 
Though  brief    as   nave's    poise,    ere  its    pearls 

dissolve — 
That  Death  I  crave,  to  seal  my  own,  the  Treasure. 


96 


SAINT  PHILIP  NERI 

FLORENCE,  A.   D.    I515-I595 

AS  a  wave  pauses  ere  its  pearls  dissolve, 
Then  plunges  once  more  in  the  living  tide, 
Sobbing  but  obedient,  may  I  resolve 
In  common  ways  with  Love  still  to  abide : — 
Eternal  Wayfarer,  dear  Love, 
I  would  arise  and  follow  Thee, 
The  badge  of  m}^  discipleship, 
The  dropped  net  by  the  alluring  sea. 
I  pray  Thee  hold  unto  my  lips 
The  Sacrificial  Cup,  remove 
It  not  until  is  slaked  Thy  mortal  thirst. 
For  Thou  wert  fevered  on  the  Cross  accurst. 
For  others,  be  the  prize,  the  goal  well  won, 
I  would  upon  Thy  lowliest  errands  run 
In  shadowy  places  where  at  morn, 
They  cry,  "Would  God  'twere  night," 
At  night,  "Would  God  'twere  morn, " 
Mad  from  the  pain  of  life  and  blight 
That  yet  must  needs  be  borne. 
The  hearts  that  with  God's  awful  patience  have 
Impatient  grown,  let  me  forbid  to  rave, 
7  97 


SAINT  PHILIP  NERI 

Teaching  our  times  are  in  His  tireless  hand 
To  Whom  the  centuries  are  grains  of  sand, 

Within  an  hour-glass 

So  swift  they  pass, 
His  thoughts  are  not  as  our  thoughts,  for  we  are 
His  thoughts,  and  never  one  of  us  shall  mar 

The  perfect  whole 

When  He  hath  writ  the  scroll. 
Unto  the  Atoning  Harmony  oblate 
May  I  inspire  the  wings  of  song  that  wait 
In  all  men's  hearts  to  waft  themselves  to  Heaven 
In  antiphons  of  pra^^er,  at  noon  and  even, 
For  Very  Voice  of  Very  God  outrang 
What  time  the  morning  stars  together  sang 
And  Choired  Angels  raptured  to  prolong 
The  primal  note,    proclaimed   Love's   birth   in 

song. 
While  Mary,  from  the  lips  that  deigned  to  dim 
The  blossom  of  her  girl-breast,  learned  to  h3^mn 

A  Woman's  only  victory 

Half  anguish  and  half  ecstasy. 
Let  me  see  dull  eyes  glow  when  I  draw  near, 
Let  me  bring  ?iappy  tasks  and  harmless  cheer 
To  little  boys  and  girls,  for  Thou  didst  take 
Into  Thine  arms  young  children,  not  Thine  own, 
And  pray  God's  pity  on  them  for  Thy  sake 

That  wentest  through  life  alone, 

Alone  through  death 
Even  by  God  forsook  at  Thy  last  breath. 
98 


SAINT  PHILIP  NERI 

Unsearchable,  I  lose  in  Thee  all  loss, 
I  fall  at  Thy  impassioned,  mystic  Cross 
To  clasp  Thy  dear,  dead  feet  and  cry: — 
Oh,  Crucified,  since  Thou  didst  will  to  die 
A  seeming  Failure — even  so  would  I. 


99 


'I  READ  MY  BOOKS  IN  WOMAN'S 
LOOKS" 

AH,  Marianna  seemeth  me, 
Like  nothing  else  so  much  to  be 
As  a  rare  volume,  richly  bound, 
In  which,  when  opened,  there  is  found 
No  knowledge,  sense,  nor  sentiment, 
But  litter  unintelligent. 

While  Isabelle  is  like  a  book 
Made  for  the  uses  of  a  cook, 
Which  may  be  handled  carelessly 
As  never  other  tome  should  be. 
Within  discover  her  bead-roll, 
Collects  for  body,  not  for  soul. 

And  Araminta  is  a  tract 
With  wordy  controversy  packed. 
Not  with  the  things  of  mild  report 
Informed,  but  full  of  sm.art  retort. 
Gad!  while  a  true  man  knows  himself, 
Such  will  be  left  upon  the  shelf. 

But  Daphne  doth  the  heart  delight 
Like  volume  bound  in  vellum  white, 

lOO 


MY   BOOKS  IN  WOMAN'S  LOOKS 

Wherein  may  all  men  plainly  see 
Sweet  wit  and  dainty  poesy, 
Wide  thought  of  human  joys  and  woes 
And  wisdom  such  as  love  bestows. 


THE  IMPECUNIOUS  TUTOR 

HE  haunts  the  purlieus  of  the  Square, 
An  Impecunious  Tutor, 
At  morning,  noon,  and  night  he's  there, — 

An  unrequitted  suitor  ? 
Ah  no,  he  couldn't  if  he  would, 

For  quite  another  reason 
He  loiters  in  the  neighborhood 
Both  in  and  out  of  season. 

For  in  the  Square,  a  man  named  Brook?, 

A  Scotchman,  lately  landed, 
Sells,  cheap  for  cash,  no  end  of  books, 

Shop-worn  and  second-handed. 
Hence  you  may  see  the  Tutor  tall, 

With  linen  frayed  and  flabby. 
Spending  his  money  at  the  stall 

And  going  very  shabby. 

I  hesitate  to  tell,  in  truth, 

What  wit  and  wisdom  He  there 

At  Brooks,  in  nuggets,  lest  forsooth 
The  world  should  quickly  hie  there, 

102 


THE  LMPECUNIOUS  TUTOR 

And  buy  him  out  and  leave  my  friend, 
The  Tutor  all  distraught  there, 

For  wanting  books,  his  life  would  end, 
But  listen  what  he  bought  there. 


One  day,  against  the  chimney  jamb, — ■ 

A  treasure,  worth  the  finding, — 
He  saw,  complete,  the  works  of  Lamb, 

Half-price  in  half -calf  binding ! 
Again  he  bought  for  fifty  cents, 

Spencer  on  "Education," 
Perfect,  save  for  two  little  rents, 

A  lode  in  his  vocation. 


O  joy,  0  bliss,  O  glad  surprise. 

His  heart  went  like  a  knocker. 
The  "London  Lyrics"  met  his  eyes 

A  ver\^  Frederic  Locker ! 
0,  miracle  of  luck,  again 

His  choice  was  none  of  Hobson's, 
He  saw  without  a  spot  or  stain, 

"Vignettes  in  Rhyme,  "  of  Dobson's. 

He  found  one  glorious  Saturday, 

And  not  so  very  battered, 
"The  Newcomes!"  and  Eve  heard  him  say, 

The  "Adsimi"  page  is  spattered 
103 


THE  IMPECUNIOUS  TUTOR 

With  yellow  stains,  he  swears  are  tears, 
He  loves  the  unknown  owner, 

Of  course  'twas  not  a  man,  he  sneers. 
If  he  had  only  known  her ! 

Pray  is  it  any  wonder  then, 

The  Tutor,  of  few  pleasures, 
Should  prowl  about  the  Scotchman's  den 

In  search  of  further  treasures  ? 
Possessing  which,  the  dingy  wing 

He  hires  from  the  souter, 
A  palace  is,  himself  a  king. 

The  Impecunious  Tutor! 


104 


TO  JANE  AUSTEN 

YOU  were  a  wondrous  child, 
And  your  praises  ran  as  wild 
In  those  days 
As  when  3^ou  graced  the  halls 
Of  the  gentry,  with  their  balls 
And  their  plays. 

But  I'll  whisper,  lady  dear, 
That  you  seem  a  trifle  queer, 

(S'il  vous  plait) 
To  the  woman  novelist 
And  the  lady  suffragist 

Of  to-day. 

You've  a  pretty  little  prattle, 
And  a  petty  tittle-tattle, 

Yet  again 
For  a  child  you  know  too  much 
And  you've  just  a  worldly  touch 

That  gives  pain. 

You're  a  gossip  and  wiseacre, 
A  little  town  dressmaker, 
And  a  wit. 

105 


TO  JANE  AUwSTEN 

With  your  mouth  quite  full  of  pins 
You  fasten  neighbors'  sins 
'Till  they  fit. 

If  you  chronicled  small  beer , 
It  really  would  appear, 

Would  it  not? 
That  you'd  nothing  else  to  show, 
And  you  surely  are,  you  know, 

Unforgot ! 


io6 


ON    AN    OLD    VOLUME    OF     "PUNCH" 

CONTAINING  JOHN  LEECH'S 

PICTURES 

WAS  ever  there  another  did  prescribe 
Balm  for  the  thorns  of  Hfe  in  quip  and 

jest  and  gibe 
Like  the  kind  Leech,  whose  pencil  yet  could  draw 
Moral  and  text  and  tears  in  all  he  saw  :— 
Witness  the  "Blighted  Being, "  in  his  teens, 
The  Clown's  Girl-wife,  dying  behind  the  scenes, 
"Pater  familias"  duly  bending  o'er 
"Cold  meats,"  that  have  been  duly  "blessed 

before," 
"The  Furriner, "  at  whom  the  British  Nation 
No  longer  'Eaves  a  'arf  brick's  detestation; 
The  Braggart  Sportsman  challenging  his  doom, 
The  puny  Crossing-Sweeper  with  his  broom. 
His  little  lordship  envying  him  the  job — 

Of  Brothers  all !     Is  it  to  laugh  or  sob  ? — 
Ecclesiasticus  without  the  sneer 
La    Manchas    Knight    with   love-tipped    sword 
and  spear. 


107 


THE  BRONTES 

THREE  violets,  growing  on  the  waste  obscure, 
Three  stars  alone  upon  a  midnight  sky, 
Three  nightingales  that  never  learned  to  fly, 
Three  broken  hearts,  wild,  passionate,  and  pure, 
Misunderstood,  unschooled  save  to  endure — 
How  lowly  were  their  lives,   their  thoughts 

how  high ; 
Their  works  so  dauntless,  and  themselves  so 

shy, 
In  consciousness  of  right  alone  secure, 
With  knowledge  only  how  to  love  and  pray ! 
Did  ever  any  from  such  scanty  store 
Gather  so  large  a  hoard,  meet  and  unmeet? 
Did  ever  lives  so  write  themselves  away. 
Or  ever  any  woman  hands  before 
Pour  such  a  bitter  ointment  at  Love's  feet? 


io8. 


TO  GEORGE  ELIOT 

ORARE    grand    woman    from    whose  lion's 
strength 
Comes  forth  a  sweetness  garnered  in  all  fields 
Where  Thought  its  richest,  purest  honey  yields, 
0  mind  of  man  and  woman's  heart  at  length. 
Joined  by  God's  hand  in  union,  perfect,  true, 
Whose  fruit  is  Wisdom,  like  a  Father's  grave 
And  Love,  surpassing  any  Mother's,  brave; 
Our  Age  unlovely  counts  of  such  but  few. 

O  watcher  on  the  Tower  who  usherest  in 
The  better  day  which  "martyred  men"  foresaw 
When  sacred  Truth  shall  her  good  reign  begin 
And  all  shall  own  her  sway  and  heed  her  law, — 
Thou  knowest  it  not,  but  thou  hast  been  to  me, 
One  of  the  Choir  unseen,  thou  pray  est  to  be  I 


109 


BURNS 

REMEMBER  little  town  of  Ayr, 
That  he  who  all  your  luster  wrought 
Sped  through  your  streets  in  mad  despair 
And  for  the  Philistines  made  sport. 


no 


JANE  WELSH  CARLYLE 

IF  you  could  live  your  life  again, 
Despite  all  pain 
You'd  choose  to  be  his  wife  again, 
Wouldn't  you,  Jane? 


Ill 


BOSWELL 

WHAT  would  our  Johnsons  be 
Without  such  fellows? 
Mute  as  an  organ,  sure, 
Wanting  the  bellows. 


112 


SAINT  BRIDGET'S  DAY 

A  SISTER'S  days  were  sweet  at  Rydal  Mount, 
Yet  had  I  given  them  for  just  one  other : — 
A  rare  and  cloudless  day  at  Mackery  End, 
With  the  incomparable  Brother. 


113 


EMERSON 

AH,  how  they  hung  upon  his  lips, 
Those  lofty  country-folk, 
Above  the  dripping  tallow  dips 
Great  light  shone  as  he  spoke. 


114 


RICHARD  WATSON  GILDER 

A  PATRIOT,  lover  of  the  poor,  not  power, 
He  kept  the  New  Commandment  of    the 
Law, 
A  Watchman,  singing  as  he  paced  the  tower, — 
God  grant  we  catch  a  ghmpse  of  what  he  saw. 


115 


ON  A  LATE  VICTORIAN 

THINGS  seen  from  "A  College  Window, 
Have  cloyed  in  a  few  stern  years, — ■ 
Of  those  viewed  from  the  South  Sea  House 
When  still  read,  through  their  tears! 


ii6 


UNDER  THE  WIZARD'S  SPELL 

SL^CH  an  aggravating  boy ! 
Knotted  shoe  string,  broken  toy, 
Playmates  striving  to  decoy 

Yet  he  nothing  heeds. 
Unlearned  task,  neglected  work, 
What  cares  he,  the  little  shirk, 
While  pursued  through  mire  and  murk 
The  MacGregor  speeds ! 

Pales  the  light  of  common  day 

As  he  reads,  and  far  away 

Life  grows  great,  or  grave,  or  gay; 

This  wise  runs  the  tale : — 
Right  comes  ever  by  its  own. 
Evil  shall  be  overthrown. 
Heroes  by  their  deeds  are  known. 

Only  cowards  fail. 

Dream,  dream  while  you  may,  dear  boy. 
Nor  let  prosy  facts  annoy : 
For  you,  as  for  bold  Rob  Roy, 

Foes  are  lurking  near; 
You  shall  wake  to  meet  them,  pray 
That  high  faith  3^ou  hold  to-day 
Yours  may  be,  and  in  the  fray 

Nought  can  make  you  fear. 
117 


DESTINY 
1789 

OF  noble  lineage  and  name, 
Of  fine  old  English  stock  she  came, 
A  high-bred,  gracious,  placid  dame, 

Stately  and  tall. 
With  measured  step  and  pirouette 
She  danced  the  solemn  minuet 
In  General  Washington's  own  set 
At  that  first  ball. 


Alas,  what  blows  are  dealt  by  fate! 
When  the  great  day  we  celebrate 
Shall  her  descendants,  with  the  great, 

Dance  and  make  merry? 
Alack!     But  one  is  to  the  fore, 
Her  grandson's  son,  who  lords  it  o'er 
The  village  school,  a  mile  or  more 

From  Dobbs,  his  ferry ! 


iia 


A  CITY  vSONNET 

BROOKLYN    BRIDGE 

ATHWART  the  sky  it  stretches,  Hke  a  bow 
Of    promise   seemingly,    since   night    and 
day,— 
While  to  the  sea  the  river  feels  its  way, — 
Men  press  in  expectation,  to  and  fro, 
As  if  they  thought  to  find  with  hopes  aglow, 
The  treasure-trove,  which  the  child-minded  say 
Lies  at  the  rainbow's  either  end — -stay,  st   y 
There  is  a  City  whither  all  shall  go 
Where  no  one  ever  seeketh  e'en  his  own, 
Nor  ever  any  hearken  to  the  cry 
" 'Tis   nought,    'tis   nought,"   for   barter   is   un- 
known, 
Where  gates  of  light  swing  OT)en  for  a  sigh, 
And  that  for  which  all  things  on  earth  are  sold, 
Is  trod  on,  for  the  Citv's  streets  are  irold! 


A  LULLABY 

OLIFE,  life,  life! 
Thou  art  fair  but  to  the  child 
To  man,  thou  art  toil  and  strife. 
Sorrow  thou  art  to  the  wife, 
To  youth,  th'art  chaos  wild! 

O  days,  days,  days ! 

Ye  are  not  what  ye  seem. 

Ye  are  not  for  Poet's  lays, 

Ye  are  not  for  Lover's  praise — 

Sleep,  sleep,  my  child,  and  dream  ! 

O  night,  night,  night! 
My  darling,  'tis  the  best ! 
'Tis  calmness  after  the  fight 
'Tis  sweetness  after  the  hght, 
'Tis  rest,  my  child,  'tis  rest! 


I20 


AUGUST,  1878 

I   SEE  the  bloom  upon  the  distant  hills, 
Divinely  blue,  immeasurably  deep, 
A  sudden  rapture  all  my  being  fills, 

For  very  gladness,  darling,  I  could  weep. 

So  in  their  purple  depths  were  thy  rare  eyes 

Inscrutably  divine,  divinely  true 
When  first  we  met,  where  peaks  and  peaks  arise 

To  meet  the  ether's  poorer,  paler  blue. 

I  look  again;  the  bloom  is  lost  in  mist, 

That  came  I  know  not  whence  I  know  not 
when, 

Anon,  by  Heaven's  own  glorious  sunhght  kissed 
And  now  bedimmed  by  fog  from  out  the  fen. 

So  in  their  hot  wild  tears  were  thy  grand  eyes. 

\Yhen  last  we  parted  on  the  mountain's  brow. 
Blinded  by  passion's  heat  and  grief's  surprise. 

But  then,  all  radiance,  all  cloud- crowned  now. 


MINE  OWN  PEOPLE 

ACALVINISTIC  training  for  a  far-off  Heaven. 
A  disregard  for  this  world  where  we  live 
and  move, 
A  weight  of  melancholy  and  of  mirth  a  leaven 
A  knowledge  of  but  little  else  than  how  to  love , 


122 


MY  VANISHED   YOUTH 

1SAW  thee  last  upon  the  mountain  top 
•   Viewing  the  world  which  seemed  thy  very 
own, 
When  I  went  wandering  down  the  steep  hillside, 
In  the  sweet  morning-time,  unknown,  alone. 

And  thee  wert    shading  with  thy  hand,  thine 
eyes. 

Watching  the  sun  rise  in  the  kindling  east, 
At  noon,  I  could  not  see  thee,  for  the  glare 

Nor  hear  thee,  for  thy  matin  hymn  had  ceased. 

Just  when  thy  vision  faded  from  my  sight, 
I  do  not  know,  I  cannot  tell  just  where, 

A  sudden  glory,  from  the  setting  sun. 

Lights   up   the  mountain-top — thou  art  not 
there ! 

And  now  'tis  eventide  and  I  have  borne 

The  Day's  hard  burden,  and  its  burning  heat, 
'Twill  soon  be  night,  Death's  night  is  near  at 

hand , 
'  Ah,  my  lost  Youth,  next  morning  shall  we 

meet? 


123 


TO-DAY 

THE    youth    thinks     he     holds    the    world's 
scepter, 
Thinks  Time  and  Space  are  his  own. 
Till  years  prove  his  wine  to  be  water, 
His  hardly  earned  bread,  a  stone. 

He'll  get  used,  he  will,  to  disaster. 

And  by  and  b}^  to  defeat. 
And  be  wilhng  to  own  the  world  "master." 

To  kiss  its  old  tyrannous  feet. 

He'll  see  till  he  ceases  to  wonder, 

The  spectacle  cease  to  appal, 
The  brass  and  the  tinkling  cymbal 

Drive  Charity  to  the  wall. 

For  Love  means  the  cross  as  much  to-day 

As  it  did  in  the  days  of  old. 
And  Truth  means  the  rack  as  alway, 

And  Fame  means  hunger  and  cold. 

The  world  has  grown  old  in  its  struggle, 
Is  stooped  and  wrinkled  and  gray, 

And  sin  and  sorrow  and  care  have  aged — 
The  only  new  thing  is — To-day. 
124 


TO-DAY 

Yes,  To-day  is  King  over  all,  my  boy, 

To-day  is  King  over  all; 
Own  its  sway,  do  its  work,  heed  its  call,  boy 

And  down  at  its  might v  feet  fall. 


125 


I  HAVE  LOVED  AND  BEEN  LOVED 

I  HAVE  loved  and  been  loved; 
What  more  can  earth  give — 
To  love  is  to  live. 

I  have  gained  and  have  lost — 
Passed  power  to  save — 
To  love  is  to  have. 

I  don't  comprehend  God 
But  He  comprehends  me — 
By  and  by  I  may  see. 

Was  it  really  worth  while — 
One  moment  of  youth 
In  a  lifetime  of  ruth  ? 

Such  night  and  such  storm 
For  one  lightning's  gleam 
To  shatter  our  dream ! 


126 


TO   YOUNG   AMERICA 

OH,  Scion  of  a  more  than  Queen, 
Throned  'twixt  her  warder  seas, 
A  mother  is  a  mother  still 

E'en  when  with  tottering  knees 
She  drains  the  brazen,  blinding  cup 
Of  folly,  to  the  lees. 

vSuch  largess  earth  has  yielded  her 

As  who  shall  count  or  say, 
But  greed  of  more,  and  more,  and  more 

Has  ground  her  heart  away. 
Her  hands  lay  hold  on  landmarks,  and 

There's  none  to  say  her  nay. 

Oh,  with  the  cloak  of  charity 

Walk  backward  and  enfold 
Her  mad,  bedizzened,  graceless  form 

Her  wild  dishevelled  gold 
Forevermore,  and  let  to-day 

Be  as  a  tale  that's  told. 


^1 


HYMN 

GLORY  be  to  God  on  high! 
Peace  on  earth,  good  will  from  Heaven 
Unto  you  a  child  is  born ! 
Unto  you  a  Son  is  given. 
Thus  the  holy  angels  satig, 
Heaven  with  the  choral  rang, 
While  a  lone  star  onward  guides, 
Where  God's  Christmas  gift  abides. 

Shepherds  heard  that  hymn  of  love 
Sounding  from  the  depths  above, 
Wondering  saw  the  gleam  afar 
Of  that  holy,  pilgrim  star. 
Guided  by  its  rays  divine, 
Sages  to  the  manger  bring. 
With  the  treasures  of  the  mine, 
Worship's  sweeter  offering. 

Ah,  that  star  has  never  set, 
But  it  shines  in  glory  yet 
Ever  guarding,  guiding  still 
Patient  hearts  that  do  His  will.  - 
Light  of  Lights,  shine  on  our  way, 
Gift  of  Gifts,  be  ours  alway. 
So  when  toils  and  tears  shall  cease, 
Christ  may  be  indeed  our  Peace. 


128 


GOLDENROD  ON  STAR  ISLAND 

LIKE  a  seared  conscience  turned  to  stone, 
Or  anguish  shaped  in  rock, 
Or  petrified  the  ocean's  moan, 
Caught  up  by  storm  and  shock — 

They  He  heaped  high  on  ocean's  breast. 

The  awful  Isles  of  Shoals, 
Black  neath  the  sky,  while  east  and  west, 

The  sea  untiring  rolls. 

And  green  things  hardly  dare  to  wake 

Out  of  that  stony  bed, 
Choked  like  the  words  the  preacher  spoke 

That  fruitless  fell  and  bled. 

But  there  it  was  that  summer  day, 

Deep  at  the  rock's  black  base. 
The  Goldenrod  on  graceful  spray 

Lifting  its  shining  face ! 

In  vain  the  siren  sea  beguiled. 

In  vain  the  storm  assailed, 
It  grew — and  on  it  Heaven  smiled, 

'Twas  girded,  armed,  and  mailed. 

9  129 


GOLDENROD  ON  STAR  ISLAND 

It  only  saw  a  strip  of  sky, 

It  only  heard  the  sea, 
And  yet  it  opened  wide  its  eye 

In  brave  simplicity. 

Dear  Flower,  let  me  learn  of  thee, 

I  too  for  one  brief  hour. 
Fixed  on  a  reef  in  Time's  wide  sea 

Live  neath  an  unseen  Power! 

And  glimpses  of  the  sky,  I  see. 

And  O,  forevermore. 
The  music  of  Eternity, 

Floats  from  the  unknown  shore. 

Pray  God,  my  sou],  thou  too,  mayst  rest. 

Through  blinding  storm  and  shock, 
Unmoved  on  Time's  unquiet  breast, 

In  the  shadow  of  the  Rock. 


130 


RELIGION 

TIS  soundness  of  the  heart, 
'Tis  saneness  of  the  mind, 
'Tis  Naaman  in  Rimmon's  house 
The  hving  God  to  find. 


131 


MOONLIGHT 

1    NEVER  asked  to  lay  a  weary  head, 
Upon  his  breast, 
Only  to  feel  his  shoulder  'neath  the  load, 
Ah,  that  was  rest. 

Only  to  have  my  fears  cried  down  the  wind. 

By  his  brave  laugh. 
The   flail's   rude   blow   on   blow   softened   and 
soothed 

By  his  dear  chaff ! 

And  my  possessions  all  things  beautiful 

Were  ever  made, 
Sun,  moon,  and  stars,  still  streams  and  pastures 
green 

Never  to  fade. 


132 


"WITHIN  YOU" 

WHY  am  I  taught  to  pray, 
**Be  done  on  earth,  Thy  will, 
And  in  the  selfsame  breath  to  say, 
"Deliver  us  from  ill,  " 
Unless  it  be 
I  come  to  see. 
Day  after  day,  from  morn  till  even. 
That  I  am  all  there  is  of  earth 
And  all  there  is  of  Heaven. 


133 


REST 

I    WONDER  where  it  is,  the  spot  of  earth, 
Where  I  shall  lay  me  down  at  last  to  sleep, 
Where  sound  of  industry  or  strife  or  mirth. 
Or  music,  or  the  sight  of  those  that  weep. 
Shall  reach  my  ears  no  more. 

Shall  it  be  here  under  my  native  skies  ? 

Heaven  grant  it,  for  I  think  I  could  not  rest 
Neath  alien  stars,  strange  sunset  and  sunrise, 

Away  from  those  that  know  and  love  me  best. 
Upon  another  shore. 

I  cannot  know,  it  may  be  far  away, 

Where  even  now,  mankind  pass  to  and  fro. 

Conquered  or  conquering,  listless  or  at  bay, 
Or  in  some  lonely  hamlet  heaped  with  snow, 
In  sound  of  ocean's  roar. 

Why  need  I  care,  simmier  shall  follow  spring, 

Winter  the  autumn;  though  I  know  it  not 
Each  season  shall  its  fitting  mantle  fling 

Dead  leaves,  or  snow,  or  blossoms  on  the  spot i 
And  all  is  as  before. 
134 


REST 

I  shall  be  satisfied,  while  life  shall  last, 
If  only  ye  who  love  me  here  awhile, 

Will  know  and  understand,  I  love  you  past 
All  feeble  sign  of  word  or  deed  or  smile, 
Dear  God,  I  ask  no  more. 


135 


I  LOVED  THEE  ONCE 

I    LOVED  thee  once,  long  years  ago, 
As  something  more  than  human, 
I  love  thee  now  for  what  thou  art — 

So  grand,  so  good  a  woman, 
That  he  who  should  dare  to  call  thee  ' '  mine 
Must  be  less  human  than  divine ! 


J36i 


BROOKLYN  TOWN 

DEAR  Home  for  thee  I  yearn, 
My  eyes  toward  thee  I  turn, 
Old  Brooklyn  Town. 
Thy  sunsets  from  the  "Heights,  " 
Thy  bridges,  starry  nights. 
Thy  glittering  harbor-lights. 
Old  Brooklyn  Town! 

Guarded  by  "Liberty," 
The  Island  at  thy  knee. 

Old  Brooklyn  Town, 
Through  radiant  beauty  sweeps, 
To  where  the  Beacon  keeps 
Safe  watch  and  ward,  nor  sleeps, 

Old  Brooklyn  Town. 

Beside  thee — softly  tread. 
The  City  of  the  Dead, 

Old  Brooklyn  Town, 
Lies  very,  very  still, 
And  tears  like  dews  distill 
Upon  each  glade  and  hill, 

Old  Brooklyn  Town. 
137 


BROOKLYN  TOWN 

The  ocean  is  thy  toy, 
Mid-summer's  rampant  joy, 

Old  Brooklyn  Town — 
Give  back  my  youth  to  me, 
I  lent  it  all  to  thee. 
Oh,  City  by  the  Sea, 

Old  Brooklyn  Town. 


138 


ANNIE  LAURIE 

AT  evening  time  I  dreamt  I  died, 
And  went  where  all  the  loves  are  biding, 
Of  kindred,  friend,  bridegroom,  and  bride, 
And  entered  without  need  of  guiding. 

Strangely  I  felt  myself  at  home, 

Familiar  were  both  scene  and  setting; 

Or  could  I  have  been  there  before, 
I  kept  remembering  and  forgetting. 

It  seemed  Love's  very  self  was  there, 

But  as  effulgence,  not  as  being. 
Not  like  to  those  of  Patmos  Isle, 

The  revelations  of  my  seeing. 

There  were  no  gates  on  every  side, 
Nor  candlesticks  with  branches  seven. 

Nor  on  a  pallid  horse  was  Death, 
Yet  I  was  sure  I  was  in  Heaven. 

I  saw  the  essence  of  a  smile, 

And  dear  eyes  newly  grown  immortal, 
When  soft,  as  by  a  miracle, 

Was  opened  song's  eternal  portal. 
139 


ANNIE  LAURIE 

And  lo,  I  heard,  or  seemed  to  hear, 
Was  ever  hke  in  human  story, 

One  singing  far  beyond  the  stars, 
One  singing  to  me,  "Annie  Laurie! 


140 


ENVIRONMENT 

A  PANSY  blossom,  in  a  field  of  grain, 
Which  yielded  to  the  eater  daily  bread 
And  the  young  ravens  stilled  and  comforted, 
Gave  seed  unto  the  sower  on  the  plain, 
And  in  the  market-place  laid  gain  to  gain, 
Yet  while  the  hungry  soil  and  men  were  fed. 
The  heart  of  the  wild  pansy  blossom  bled 
And  agonized  and  died,  alas,  in  vain; — 
A  purple  splendor  circled  round  and  round 
With  flesh  and  toil  and  avarice  and  greed, 

0  Heart  of  Gold,  all  self -consumed  at  last, 

1  cannot  tell  thee  w^hy  thou  here  art  found ; 
I  cannot  tell  why  hunger  is  and  need, 

The  lot,  I  know,  it  is  not  ours  to  cast. 


HI 


HOLY  INNOCENTS 

'npiS  finished,  the  enraptured  breezes  stir 
1       With  hovering  angels,  while  each  swaying 
bough 
A  censer  seems,  with  frankincense  and  myrrh 
Soothing  the  night.     The  Orient  Kings  but  now. 
Forewarned  of  God,  return  another  way : 
In  the  deep  hollow  of  His  hand  all  things. 
Grown  strangely  still,  await  the  Heaven-born  day 
Of  peace  on  earth — when  lo,  a  cry!  that  stings 
The  brooding  silences  like  thrust  of  steel, 
A  Voice,  O  God!  in  Rama.     Even  so 
That  all  might  be  fulfilled; — One  woman's  weal 
Is  ever  purchased  with  another's  woe. 


142 


THE  RETURN 

NAY,  but  I  will  arise  and  go 
Unto  my  Father,  and  will  say, 

0  Father,  in  the  endless  realm 
Of  Books,  I  went  astray. 

My  days  in  reading  riotous 

1  passed,  and  fain  had  filled  my  head 
With  the  last  word  of  science.  Lord, 
No  matter  wheresoe'er  it  led. 

To  quench  my  still  increasing  thirst, 
To  ever- widening  streams  I  went. 
Tracing  their  source,  I  lost  my  way. 
Night  came  apace,  my  faith  was  spent 
And  it  was  my  inheritance. 
In  breast  milk  it  was  yielded  me. 
For  it  this  blood  now  in  my  veins 
Leaped  to  be  spilled  in  ecstasy. 
I  am  not  worthy  of  a  place, 
Father,  in  Thy  house.     Now  I  know 
Obedience  to  be  its  base 
And  pinnacle;  and,  though  I  go 
From  earth  to  sky,  from  seed  to  star, 
From  drop  of  dew  to  central  sun. 
There  art  Thou,  in  this  primal  law, — 
God  is  where'er  His  will  is  done. 
143 


THE  RETURN 

Hence,  0  my  Father,  unto  me, 

A  famished  prodigal,  assign 

Even  an  hireUng's  place  until 

Thy  will  is  mine,  and  I  am  Thine. 

At  home  in  Thy  wide  universe, 

My  fire  by  night,  my  cloud  by  day, 

This  fiat, — in  obedience 

Find  thou  the  truth,  the  life,  the  way. 


144 


A   WOMAN'S  LITANY 

GOD,  the  Father,  name  Supreme, 
Guard  young  maidens  while  they  dream. 
Lest,  awaking,  they  blaspheme. 
Hear  us  Holy  Father. 

God,  the  Son,  of  ^lary  born. 
Teach  all  women,  travail- worn , 
Love's  true  symbol  is  a  thorn. 
Hear  us,  Holy  Jesu. 

Holy  Ghost,  that  increate, 
Didst  brood  upon  the  waters  great, 
Like  Thee,  may  we  only — wait. 
Hear  us.  Holy  Spirit. 

Ever  blessed  Trinity, 
Three  in  One,  and  One  in  Three, 
Maid,  and  wife,  and  matron,  we 
Pray  Thee,  hear  our  Litany. 


145 


RETROSPECT 

JAM  strong  now  and  sane, 
Was  it  less  than  inane 
To  consume  candle  flame 
At  so  sorry  a  game? 

We  reap  what  was  sown 
And  we  sow  the  unknown — 
How  wise  we  have  grown 
With  our  hearts  tiu'ned  to  stone. 

Never  heed,  by  and  by 
We  shall  both  of  us  die 
And  our  secret  shall  pass 
Into  daisies  and  grass. 

The  white  slab  shall  tell 
How  "God  doeth  all  well," 
And  to  none  'twill  appear 
That  we  perished  last  year! 


146 


TRAGEDY 

A  THISTLE  purple,  passionate 
Wooed  a  Daisy  delicate, 
A  girl  tore  her  petals,  one  by  one 
And  he  went  white  from  sun  to  sun ! 


147 


"COMPLIRE" 

THE  blurred  horizon  rim 
Grows  dimmer  and  more  dim 
Till  blotted  out.     Alack, 
The  floor  of  Heaven  is  black. 
Yet  when  the  day  went  right 
I  loved  thee,  hstening  Night, — 
Thy  stillness  and  thy  stars, 
Thy  dews  and  fragrancy, 
Our  Lady  of  the  Moon 
Her  pilgrim  tides  that  soon 
Or  late,  are  lost  at  sea; 
The  wistful  murmuring  of  the  trees 
The  wonder  of  the  Pleiades 
All  were  my  simple  fee 
A  radiant  time  that  was 
But  never  more  can  be. 
A  cloud  no  bigger  than  his  hand 
Has  hidden  sea  and  sky  and  land 
My  love  has  fled  and  left  me  but  the  dark, 
The  aching  dark  that  to  my  heart  shall  hark ; 
O  Night,  I  know  the  eclipsing  hour 
Our  passion  flower 
Began  to  pale, — ■ 
*Twas  at  his  first  cold  glance 
When  with  a  mind  askance 

He  hastened  to  depart 

148 


"COMPLIRE" 

A  student  friend  did  ail, 
Oh,  let  me  not  recall 
Each  subterfuge  and  art, 
His  failures  at  the  sunset  tryst 
For  ' '  duty ' '  his  new-forged  regard 
His  feigned  despair  of  * '  worthiness ' ' 
His  counterfeited  gloom  and  stress — 
So  far,  so  deep  he  had  to  fall 
My  temple's  veil  to  rive 
And  Oh,  desire  dies  hard 
So  long  it  took  to  teach  my  heart 
Men  may  be  traitors  and  yet  live. 
Nay,  thrive  in  the  impartial  sun 
That  warms  a  Judas  and  a  Christ 
And  punishes  not  one. 

'Till  now  what  had  been  space  and  time  to  me 
But  Love's  environ  and  Love's  opportunity"" 
What  need  have  I  of  either,  wanting  Love 
And  what,  I  ask,  of  a  child's  God  above, 
With : — Now  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep 
I  pray  the  Lord  my  eyes  to  keep 
From  tears,  for  Jesus'  sake — •' 
To  whom  then  shall  I  make 
My  cry?     The  heavens  spin  and  I  reel. 
Dear  God,  another  God  reveal 
To  whom,  Oh  teach  me  how  to  pray 
Prayers  I  need  never  more  unsay — 
Kind  Shepherd  Night,  a  stricken  sheep 
Begs  entrance  to  the  fold  of  Sleep. 
149 


MY  EPITAPH 

EARTH  asked  for  bread  of  me,  alone, 
I  fied,  and  left  with  it,  this  stone. 
Or  this : 
The  daisies  once  were  neath  my  feet, 
And  now  they  are  above  my  head. 
Read  in  their  faces  brave  and  sweet, 
Better  than   grave-stone  ever  said. 


150 


AFTER  HEINE 

THOU'RT  like  unto  a  lily 
So  pure  thou  art  and  fair, 
I  look  on  thee  with  yearning 
Then  bow  my  heart  in  prayer, 

Beseeching  God  who  made  thee 
So  like  a  flower  to  be,  • 

So  like  a  flower  to  keep  thee, 
To  all  eternity. 


151 


TO  A  RECLAIMED  SOFA 

LATE  an  old  and  tattered  thing 
It  would  seem  you'd  had  your  flin^ 
But  not  so; 
You've  embraced  our  family 
For  full  a  century 
And  I  know ! 

Not  couch  of  gentle  fame 
Sung  for  the  Olney  Dame 

Was  jnore  staid 
Than  you  of  lion  paw 
Adorned  with  wing  and  claw 

Nobly  made. 

A  Covenanting  branch 

Of  the  church,  my  people  stanch,  . 

With  regret 
A  superfluity 
Of  knottiness  I  see 

In  them  yet. 

Still  they've  softened  since  the  time, 
A  Papist  in  his  prime 

And  "His  Grace" 
J5? 


TO  A  RECLAIMED  SOFA 

Asked  a  kirk-born  lass  to  be 
His  wife,  when  promptly  she 
Marred  his  face — 

A  Grandmama  of  mine, 
She  wedded  a  divine ! 

Her  great-great 
Of  bold  and  girded  loin 
Intrepid  at  the  Boyne 

Met  his  fate. 

But  Sabbaths  long  and  schisms 
And  Shorter  Catechisms 

And  the  Law 
Have  ceased  to  terrorize, 
What  do  they  symbolize 

Wing  and  claw? 

That  the  lion  and  the  dove, 
vShall  lie  down  and  wondrous  love 

Fill  the  air 
When  war  no  more  is  learned 
And  by  no  man,  no  man  spurned 

Anywhere. 

What !     Clawf oot  preaching  peace 
With  strife  and  hate's  surcease 

Near  and  far ! 
When  my  grandsires'  sermons  strong 
(Not  so  broad  as  they  were  long) 

Were  all  War! 
153 


A  BIRTHDAY  WISH 

HOWEVER  fond,  however  dear, 
True  friends  address  you, 
No  wish,  I  know,  is  more  sincere 
Than  my  "God  bless  you." 


154 


A  DUKE'S  A  DUKE  FOR  A'  THAT 

KEEP  watch  and  ward,  McAllister, 
O'er  thine  unbroken  line, 
For  Marlborough  deducted  one 
Which  left  then  ninety-nine, 
But  Sutherland  is  on  our  shores. 
The  awful  gap  to  fill 
Pro  tern;  take  heart,  the  country's  safe 
We'll  have  four  hundred  still. 


155 


THE  AMERICAN  GIRL'S  APPEAL 

AM  I  "Priscilla,  "  of  the  bard, 
For  "Miles"  pursued? 
Or  apple-paring  "Huldah,"  who 

By  "Zeke"  was  wooed? 
Or  the  intrepid  warrior  maid, 

With  fire-arms 
More  thoroughly  acquainted,  than 

With  hymns  and  psalms  ? 
Am  I  the  poor  and  petty  thing 

That  Howells  makes  me, 
The  stone  that  sharpens  up  the  wit 

Of  him  that  takes  me  ? 
Or  am  I  Mary  Wilkins'  kind, 

Bilious,  inane. 
All  conscience  and  self-consciousness. 

Never  quite  sane? 
Am  I  the  Anglo-Yankee  prig 

Of  Mrs.  Ward? 
Does  she  or  does  she  not  portray 

Quite  by  the  card? 
Tell  me  I'm  each  or  all  of  these; 

My  faults  unfurl 
To  every  breeze;  but  am  I,  pray, 

The  Gibson  girl? 
156 


THE  AMERICAN  GIRL'S  APPEAL 

Am  I  the  worldling  he  depicts, 

The  "up-to-date, " 
Self-seeking,  mercenary,  shrewd, 

A  thing  to  hate? 
My  sweet  girl  cousins  'cross  the  sea 

Du  Maurier  drew, 
And  every  one  adores,  while  I— 

What  can  I  do? 
'Tis  Punch's  dowager  gets  off 

The  naughtiness, 
But  I  am  made  to  voice  it.     Oh, 

Have  I  redress? 
What  knight  will  to  the  rescue,  who 

Will  speak  me  fair. 
And  on  his  heart  and  pencil  my 

True  colors  wear? 


157 


AT  THE  DOOR 

TELL  me  before  you  go — 
You  really  do  not  know? 
He.      I  really  don't. 
She.     Absurd! 

He.      I  don't,  upon  my  word! 
She.     We've  been  engaged  a  week — 

No,  no,  please  let  me  speak. 
He.      But,  dear,  I  take  it  back. 
She.     You  interrupt  me,  Jack. 

We've  been  engaged  a  week — 

Don't  try  to  look  so  meek — 

And  you  really  cannot  say 

If  my  eyes  are  black  or  gray  ? 
He.      Love,  my  land  of  promise  lies 

In  the  rainbow  of  your  eyes ! 

They're  red,  dear,  when  you  weep 

Beneath  their  lashes'  sweep, 

And  blue  as  summer  seas. 

When  all  goes  as  you  please; 

And  tawny  when  you're  vexed, 

And  violet  when  perplexed, 

And   I've   seen   them   green,   you  know, 
when — 
She.     Good  night,  sir,  you  may  go! 
158 


AN  EPITAPH 

DEAD  in  the  churchyard,  where  'twas  born, 
doth  He 
My  Calvinistic  creed.     Mark,  passer-by, 
That  it  came  home  to  die. 

Nor  brief  nor  barren  was  its  earthly  day. 
The   Lord   gave,    and — are   we   not   taught   to 
say? — 
The  Lord  hath  taken  away. 


159 


IN  THE  LANE 

WHAT  is  so  fair  as  a  lane  in  June, 
A  leafy,  mystic,  lovely  lane, 
When  the  joyous  birds  are  all  atune 
And  dreamy  shadows  wax  and  wane  ? 

But  all  of  beauty  was  not  there 
Until  she  wandered  down  alone — 

A  gleam  of  sun  aslant  her  hair — • 
My  best  girl,  but  not  yet  my  own. 

In  the  leafy  shade  that  afternoon 

I  breathed  my  humble  heartfelt  prayer. 

What  is  so  dark  as  a  lane  in  June 

When  "No"  is  softlv  answered  there? 


[60 


THE  THREE  GRACES 

FAITH  is  a  budding  maiden, 
Ecstatic,  cloistered,  wan. 
Hope  is  an  ancient  spinster 

That  still  believes  in  man ; 
But  Charity's  a  mother, 
And  all  her  geese  are  swan ! 


i6i 


QUESTIONINGS 

AFTER   WORDSWORTH 

1MET  a  little  cottage  girl 
Eighteen  years  old,  she  said, 
Her  brain  was  tired  with  the  whirl 
Of  questions  in  her  head. 

She  asked  me :     ' '  What's  an  '  optimist '  ? ' 
"Good  luck  made  flesh!"  I  cried. 

"And  what,  then,  is  a  pessimist?" 
"Bad  luck  personified!" 

With  that  she  asked  me  to  explain 

A  Christian  scientist. 
Said  I:     "He's  one  who  cures  a  pain 

That  doesn't  quite  exist." 

"And  what  is  an  agnostic,  pray?" 
"Sweetheart,  'I  do  not  know.'  " 

She  turned  her  pretty  head  away — 
* '  To  Vassar  I  must  go ! " 

"Please  don't,  until  you've  answered  me 
One  question — you've  asked  four" — 

"My  little  wife,  dear,  will  you  be? 
I  ask  for  love,  not  lore!" 
162 


QUESTIONINGS 

Five  years  ago  to-night,  my  eyes! 

I  hear  a  sweet  voice  croon 
A  lullaby,  while  Tommy  cries, 

"But  what  is  in  the  moon?" 


163 


THE  RETORT  COURTEOUS 

ONCE  on  the  mart,  proud  Poverty 
Met  strutting  Affluence, 
And  bowed  him  to  the  very  ground 
In  mocking  deference. 

"Why  dost  thou  bow  so  low, "  sneered  Wealth, 

"  Thy  head  is  at  thy  feet"; 
"From  force  of  habit, "  Want  replied; 

"  I  strive  to  make  ends  meet." 


164 


THE   LONDON    TIMES 

OH,  red  rag  to  the  Irish  bull, 
Great  thunderer, 
How  came  you  to  be  such  a  dull 

Old  blunderer? 
None  but  the  donkey,  daft  and  droll, 

Feeds  on  thistles, 
'None  other  would  have  swallowed  whole 
Those  epistles! 


165 


THE  WISHING  GATE  VISITED 

BY  A  PESSIMIST 

1    OFTEN  wish  my  ancestors 
Had  died  while  they  were  teething, 
Or  that  they  hadn't  given  themselves 

The  trouble  of  bequeathing 
The  gift  of  life  to  me,  for  which 

I  own  I  hardly  thank  them, 
Nor  'mong  the  benefactors  of 

Their  race  can  scarcely  rank  them. 

I  often  wish  I  had  remained 

In  the  heaven  of  the  poet, 
Which  "lies  around"  our  infancy, 

Tho'  only  Wordsworths  know  it. 
I  often  wish  that  I  were  now 

Safe  in  the  Heaven  of  Heavens, 
The  "Choir  Invisible, "  as  sung 

By  Mrs.  Marion  Evans. 

I  often  wish  I  had  been  born 

An  ignorant  Zulu, 
Or  in  some  sweet  and  dreamy  land 

A  Khan  in  Xanadu. 
i66 


THE  WISHING  GATE  VISITED 

I  often  wish  I  didn't  wish 

As  often  as  I  do, 
I  wish  and  wish,  and  wish  and  wish, 

I  wish  the  whole  da}^  through. 

If  only  wishes  horses  were, 

Oh,  what  a  stud  I'd  keep! 
With  steeds  of  morn  to  prance  upon, 

And  nightmares  in  my  sleep. 
But  I  should  die  of  ennui  then, 

'Tis  my  fee  and  my  entail, 
Oh,  when  shall  I  be  satisfied? 

When  shall  desire  fail? 


167 


A  SOCIALIST 

SHE  sews  for  a  mantua-maker, 
A  little  hump-backed  maid, 
Day  in,  day  out,  she  is  overworked 
And  grievously  underpaid. 

But  she  knows  there's  a  God  in  heaven 

For  proof  is  at  no  loss : — 
He  marred  His  own  handiwork,  in  her. 

And  gave  His  Son  to  the  Cross. 

Could  she  but  meet  with  the  wounded  Christ 
When  the  glare  of  day  grows  dim, 

How  she  would  pray  His  pity  on  her 
And  pour  her  pity  on  Him. 


i68 


THE  THISTLE 

THE  man's  prodigious  vanities 
Surpassed  the  ancient  Pharisee's 
Supremest  notch. 
He  summed  up  in  a  single  word 
His  benefits,  and  thanked  the  Lord 
That  made  him  Scotch. 

A  bitter  controversiaHst, 

His  gall-dipped  arrows  never  missed 

Or  foe,  or  friend. 
He  loved  dispute,  courted  a  schism. 
And  had  the  Shorter  Catechism 

At  his  tongue's  end. 

He,  for  the  love  of  God,  could  hate 
With  a  revenge  insatiate, 

And  found  deep  peace 
In  thinking  of  the  woes  reserved 
For  those  who  from  the  "doctrine"  swerved, 

When  time  should  cease. 

Thus  was  he  in  his  youth,  untried: 
To-day  so  is  he  typified, — 
Though  old  and  sere — 
169 


THE  THISTLE 

By  that  ''burr  blossom"  keen,  then  bland, 
The  symbol  of  his  native  land, 
The  "thistle  dear." 

The  thistle,  bristling  in  the  spring, 
Unlovely,  rough  and  harsh,  a  thing 

To  shun  and  fear; 
In  summer,  purple,  passionate, 
Hurting  remorselessly  as  fate, 

Holding  none  near. 

But  mark  the  flower  when  its  race 
Is  closing,  miracle  of  grace ! 

An  aureole. 
Self-luminous  and  sweet,  behold 
From  out  that  tenement  unfold 

The  thistle's  soul. 

E'en  so  my  old-time  worthy  friend 
Has  stacked  his  guns,  as  near  its  end 

Draws  the  sad  strife. 
Faith  means  no  more  theology; 
Nor  hope,  self-love;  and  charity 

Rules  all  his  life. 

His  silver  locks  are  like  a  crown 

Of  thorns  changed  into  thistle-down. 

A  tender  grace. 
Like  moonlight  on  a  tranquil  sea. 
Whose  storms  have  long  since  ceased  to  be. 

Shines  in  his  face. 
170 


A  SONG 

A   DAY  ..:..^_..  .:.::.::.  :.y:.oy 
ii      ^  :\z  montnav  .r    _  ~ren, 

Gi:;  vr  '::  f  "r^[:[ri'  on  ihr  ; :  y 
'  _ '    " '  T  .1 1 : :  \  ^"  :  ::t  sweeT  : ".:.  t  r :'_ , 

E-.;.:    v:?v..  yeiieed::ii'  r.:e. 
Yc  :       :       -cmgerti::  7  :      r  ":; 

H :      : :   :^  leal  acd  :ruc. 


•1 _-  -    ;j^-    -  ,-  -3   ;ii 


L'.    "-J,: 

A-1 ye  : 
T:  ::"-: 


171 


A  VALENTINE 

THE  day  is  coming,  Favorite  mine 
When  I  may  choose  a  Valentine, 
And  all  to  you,  to  you  alone 
Sub  rosa,  I  shall  make  it  known, 
Just  what  I  want  in  mind  and  heart. 
To  play  that  role,  act  out  that  part, 
And  just  to  meet  thy  heart's  dear  plan. 
He  must  be  just — a  gentleman. 
Nor  more  nor  less  in  his  soul's  soul. 
If  he'd  stand  first  in  my  bead  role; 
And  he  must  have  a  wit  like  wine 
Intoxicating,  sweet,  and  fine. 

And  he  must  sing  in  such  a  tone. 
Shall  make  each  loving  heart  his  own; 
Then  he  must  read  the  best  of  books 
And  sermons  see  in  stones  and  brooks. 
And  he  must  grave  or  pla3^ful  be. 
As  suited  to  my  mood,  you  see! 
Nor  rich  nor  poor  in  pounds  and  pence, 
But  have  a  goodly  competence. 
Be  proud  and  generous  and  true. 
In  fine,  he  must  be  just  like  You. 


172 


THROUGH  LIFE 

WHAT  is  it  softens  down  the  flail's  rude 
blow? 
The  lightsome  chaff. 
What  is  it  helps  the  sad,  sad,  world  to  go? 
The  joyous  laugh. 


173 


BLISS 

HE  was  a  little  Negro 
And  sat  upon  the  fence, 
He  hadn't  any  father 

Nor  any  mother,  hence 
He  was  a  little  orphan 
And  hadn't  any  sense. 

He  thought  the  earth  a  circle, 

But  flat  as  any  floor; 
Was  sure  it  scarce  extended 

Beyond  the  river  shore. 
And  thought  the  stream  the  Jordan 

Which  Israel  passed  o'er. 

He  knew  the  sun  at  twilight 

Just  put  himself  to  bed 
Underneath  a  coverlet 

Of  purple,  blue,  and  red; 
Except  on  stormy  evenings 

When  he  used  black  instead. 

He  b'lieved  the  stars  in  heaven 
Were  blessed  angels'  eyes 
174 


BLLSS 

*'A  peepin'  froo  the  openin's 
Ter  see  who  steals  the  pies" — 

At  least,  so  said  his  auntie, 
And  she  was  very  wise. 

And  then  he  thought  his  conscience 
The  throbbing  'neath  his  ribs 

That  beat  so  fast  and  loudly 
Whenever  he  told  fibs, 

Which  was  often,  each  one  prefaced 
By  "True  as  eber  yer  libs!" 

And  he  was  sure  Elijah 

Would  come  for  him  some  night , 
And  take  him  in  a  chariot 

All  glorious  with  light, 
To  a  sweet  and  happy  country 

Where  everyone  was  white  1 

He  was  a  little  Negro 

And  sunned  him  on  the  fence. 
He  hadn't  any  knowledge 

Nor  any  money,  hence 
He  was  supremely  happy — 

Each  has  his  recompense! 


175 


B"ORNO"B"— THAT'S  THE  QUESTION 

I  REALLY  think  my  sister  May 
Is  stupider  than  me; 
Because  she  said  the  other  day 

There  wasn't  any  "b" 
In  honey-comb,  and  spelt  it  just 

"C-doubleo-m-e!" 
Of  course  she's  wrong.     I  told  her  so; 

There's  got  to  be  a  "bee" 
Somewhere  in  honey-comb,  because 

He  makes  it,  don't  you  see! 


176 


JACK  WRITES  TO  HIS  BROTHER 

T  HASTEN  to  inform  you,  AVill, 

1     The  fact  may  not  be  true — next  week, 

That  I'm  engaged  to  Bessie.     Still 

I'm  not  quite  certain;  so  to  speak 
We're  harnessed — if  we  ever  go 

Is  quite  another  thing,  you  know! 

We're  all  right  up  to  date,  old  chap; 

But  Bess  is  such  a  summer  sky 
All  sunshine  or  all  thunder  clap, 

I  never  know  but  each  good-by 
May  be  the  last.     There's  many  a  miss 

Between  the  mustache  and  the  kiss. 

I  wonder  if  all  girls  are  so, 

Did  Mother  act  like  that,  egad! 

And  if  she  did,  I  only  know 

'Twas  a  great  pity  of  poor  Dad, 

He  must  have  been  a  world  more  meek 
In  those  days  than  he  is — this  week! 

I  think  I  never  lived  before; 

She  is  my  conscience  and  my  creed, 
12  177 


JACK  WRITES  TO  HIS  BROTHER 

And  she  is  mine  to  still  adore 

As  I  am  hers  in  word  and  deed — 

If  not  all  up  when  you  get  back 
You'll  be  my  best  man,  won't  you? 

Jack. 


178 


AN   EPITAPH 

ASLEEP  upon  the  breast  of  earth 
This  httle  headstone  under, 
Lies  one  who  scarce  survived  his  birth 
Nine  days,  his  name  was  Wonder! 


179 


THE  CAT  AND  THE  FIDDLE— LIKEWISE 
THE  BOW 

TWAS  only  a  Darkey's  Fiddle 
Only  a  Darkey's  Bow, 
But  that  isn't  any  reason 

Why  they  should  fight,  you  know. 

Perhaps  a  Stradivarius 

Or  an  Amati  could 
Show  vastly  better  manners 

But  I  question  if  they  would — 

"It  is  I  that  makes  the  music, " 

The  Violin  declares, 
"Bear  that  in  mind,  you  silly  Bow 

And  don't  put  on  such  airs!" 

"Oh,  it's  you  that  makes  the  music," 

Cries  the  indignant  Bow, 
"It's  you,  you  empty-headed  flat. 

Since  when,  I'd  like  to  know." 

"Since  when?     Good  gracious!  from  the  first, 

'Twas  all  that  you  could  do 
To  scrape  a  living  by  my  aid. 

You  hair-brained  booby,  you!" 
1 80 


THE  CAT  AND  THE  FIDDLE 

Matters  from  this  grew  worse  and  worse, 
From  words  to  blows  they  fell, 

And  what  the  upshot  might  have  been 
Is  very  hard  to  tell. 

Had  not  the  Cat,  who'd  heard  it  all. 

Leaped  to  the  mantel  piece 
To  separate  the  irate  pair 

And  bid  their  brawlings  cease. 

'Twas  quite  the  other  way  around, 

She  angered  them  the  more. 
And  soon  the  Fiddle,  Cat,  and  Bow 

Lay  sprawling  on  the  floor ! 

Lay  sprawling  on  the  floor  (but  that 

Has  been  remarked  before) 
All  broken  up,  even  the  Cat 

To  speak  in  metaphor — 

With  this  did  Pomp,  that  good  old  man, 

Come  home  as  was  his  way 
When,  as  Gray  says,  "The  curfew  tolled 

The  knell  of  parting  day." 

He  saw!  and  cried,  "This  yere's  de  Cat, 

The  triflin'  nigger  Sneak,  " 
Then  stooped  to  gather  up  the  chips 

While  tears  ran  down  his  cheek. 
i8i 


THE  CAT  AND  THE  FIDDLE 

Never — as  Wordsworth  says — * '  did  he 

Pick  up  a  single  stone" 
To  hurl  at  the  retreating  Cat 

But  added  with  a  moan : 

"I  never  ain't  had  any  fun 
And  dere  ain't  none  ahead. 

Glad  folks  am  dem  that  am  asleep — 
Dis  chile  will  go  to  bed." 

Moral 

This  Fable  teaches  several  things : 
When  wretched  get  to  sleep, 

Keep  out  of  family  quarrelings, 
And  look  before  you  leap ! 


182 


THE  RETORT  POSITIVE 

THE  voice  of  one  crying  from  Maine, 
"Trusts  are  private  affairs,  I  maintain 
But  the  people  said,  "So 
Is  the  ballot,  you  know, 
A  private  affair.  Mister  Blaine/' 


183 


RECKONING 
"le  jeu  n'en  vaut  pas  la  chandelle." 

BUT  who  has  the  game,  if  you  please! 
Ned  throws  over  Maude  for  Elise 
But  dies  ere  he  ever  is  wed 
(Of  heart  compHcations,  'tis  said). 
Maude  marries,  but  starves  on  a  fiat; 
Elise  lives  alone  with  her  cat, 
And  the  candle  is  spent — all  the  same; 
Will  you  tell  me,  please,  who  has  the  game? 


184 


TOMMY  SEES  A  METEOR 

GOD  threw  a  star  away,  last  night, 
Yes,  I  saw  Him  do  it, 
For  I  was  lying  wide  awake 
The  minute  that  He  threw  it. 

It  went  like  lightning  'cross  the  sky. 

The  singular  est  thing. 
And  looked,  it  did,  exactly  like 

'Twas  fired  from  a  sling. 

I  jumped  right  up  and  called  to  Ted 

To  come  and  see  it  fall, 
But  he  is  such  a  sleepy-head, 

He  didn't  care,  at  all. 

I  really  wonder  where  it  went ; 

Why,  just  as  like  as  not, 
'Way  to  the  end  of  the  Rainbow 

And  fell  into  the  Pot ! 


i8.s 


THE  SERMON 

FAITH  was  the  subject  matter  and 
The  hero  Abraham, 
How  he  had  offered  up  his  son 

As  sacrificial  lamb 
But  for  the  timely  presence  of 
An  inoffensive  ram. 

All  were  enjoined  to  have  such  faith 

As  Father  Abraham  had : 
To  gather  sticks  and  lay  the  fire 

And  even  to  be  glad 
To  hold  and  bind  for  sacrifice 

Some  sinless  little  lad. 

For  lo ! — and  such  dramatic  verve — 

Caught  in  the  thicket,  see 
The  scapegoat  in  sheep's  covering, 

There  through  no  jugglery 
But  doomed,  pre-doomed  since  time  began 

A  sufferer  to  be. 

Follows  the  peroration  fine — 
God  will  Himself  repay, 
186 


THE  SERMON 

Himself  provide  the  victim,  and 
The  murdered — "Let  us  pray. 

The  benediction  spoken,  each 
Went  on  his  homeward  way. 

The  preacher  was  a  Calvinist 
And  Abraham  was  a  Jew, 

The  Hsteners  were  Orthodox 
In  every  shade  and  hue, 

But  the  ram  was  an  Agnostic — 
As  I  had  been,  or  you. 


187 


A  "REVISED"  NURSERY  RHYME 

DING,  dong,  bell, 
Baby's  out  of  H-11. 
Who  put  him  in? 
John  Cal-vin. 
What  took  him  out? 
The  D.  D.'s  doubt. 


im 


IN  CHURCH 

I  WATCH  the  worshippers  who  come 
And  softly  take  their  places 
And  only  bury  in  their  hands 
Their  grave  and  humble  faces. 

I  see  the  sunlight  streaming  through 
The  panes,  where  meekly  turning 

Their  eyes  to  heaven,  the  pictured  saints 
The  martyr's  crown  are  earning. 

I  hear  the  preacher's  solemn  voice. 

The  organ's  sweet  vibration. 
The  words  of  psalmist  and  of  sage, 

I  offer  my  oblation. 

And  then  I  hear  the  hymn,  O  God! 

They  cry  as  they  were  stranded 
Upon  the  Rock  of  Ages,  not 

As  they  were  safely  landed . 

And  all  schemes  seem  inadequate 

And  all  prayers  unavailing 
To  meet  the  need  of  hearts  that  break 

Into  such  hopeless  wailing. 


IN  CHURCH 

It  sounds  an  echo,  far  above 

The  empty  words  that  follow, 
And  makes  the  preacher's  soft  low  voice 

Seem  meaningless  and  hollow. 

And  long  he  talks  in  worn-out  phrase 

Of  old  religious  platitude, 
And  for  that  he  and  his  are  "saved, " 

Is  filled  with  deepest  gratitude — 

Great  God  in  Heaven!     I'd  rather  plunge 
Down  in  the  deep  of  bitterest  fountain 

For  some  forgotten  soul,  than  land 

"Saved,  "  Noah-like,  on  highest  mountain. 

I  worship  not  their  God,  my  soul 

Breaks  through  their  creeds'  poor  tissue, 

Nor  cowers  in  servile  craven  fear. 
But  waits  with  God  the  issue. 

Deep  under  all,  high  over  all 

I  only  hear  the  Master — 
"Come  unto  me" — in  joy  or  pain 

In  victory  or  disaster, 

"Come  unto  me"— To  Thee,  O  Christ, 
To  neither  church  nor  preacher, 

Set  up  Thy  Temple  in  my  heart, 
Be  Thou  my  only  Teacher! 


190 


TRUE 

THERE  always  will  be  pretty  girls 
In  every  age  and  every  clime 
With  raven  eye  and  auburn  curls 
All  powerful — for  a  time ! 

There  always  will  be  foolish  boys 
Of  every  land  and  every  tongue 

Who'll  love  and  love  the  pretty  toys 
To  madness — while  they're  young ! 

There  always  will  be  broken  hearts 

And  lovers'  moans  and  shattered  ties- 
Till  girls  are  made  with  other  arts, 
And  boys  with  other  eyes ! 


191 


HIGH  LIFE 

SHE  gave  an  announcement  parly 
'Twas  nothing  if  not  bizarre. 
Congratulations  were  hearty, 
The  supper  was  by  Pinard, 
The  decorations  by  Kendee, 
The  directoire  frock  by  Worth — 
I  say  is  it  any  wonder 
A  girl  should  ask  for  the  earth 
After  that  from  her  intended  ? 
She  did  and  then  came  the  crash 
The  brilliant  engagement  ended 
As  it  began — in  a  mash! 


192 


TO  BOB 

A   LEAP-YEAR   VALENTINE 

ROBERT,  wealthiest  friend  of  mine, 
My  soul  doth  crave  no  gold  but  thine, 
So  by  the  following  list,  I  pray 
Thou 'It  swear  thy  very  heart  away. 
O  unto  me  thine  ear  incline 
And  yield  thee  with  a  will  supine 
To  be — oh  !  be  my  Valentine ! 

By  thy  patent  leather's  shine, 
By  thy  crush  hat's  broidered  sign, 
By  thy  pretty  pendant  fob, 
By  thy  ample  foot  so  knob. 
By  thy  waltzing  so  divine, 
By  thy  lisp  and  drawl  and  whine, 
B-o-b,  my  Valentine! 

By  thy  long  ancestral  line 

So  long  thine  enemies  and  mine — 

Say  'tis  endless,  swaying  still 

A  clothes-line  from  a  window-sill. 

By  that  labored  wit  of  thine 

Broader  at  the  point  than  fine, 

B-o-b,  my  Valentine! 

13  193 


TO  BOB 

B}^  the  many  hearts  that  pine 
For  that  catholic  love  of  thine, 
That  worships  at  each  Virgin's  shrine 
B-o-b,  mv  Valentine! 


194 


LINES  ON  AN  AUTHORESS 

THERE  was  a  3^oung  lady  of  letters, 
Who  got  far  more  fame  than  her  betters; 
For  every  one  read 

"The  Quick  and  the  Dead" 
By  this  cyclonic  lady  of  letters. 


195 


ST.  VALENTINE'S  EVE 
(in  imitation  of  keats) 

ST.  VALENTINE'S  Eve— A  chilly  night! 
Yet  did  the  brave  young  Mortimer  get  left 
No  more  than  Keats 's  doughty  Porphyro, 

Who  bolts  and  bars  and  gates  asunder  cleft ; 
For  Mortimer  was  mashed  on  one  whose  name 
Was  also  Madeline,  tho'  easier  game! 

St.  Valentine 's  Eve  he  called  on  her, 
Full  of  sweet  glee  was  lovely  Madeline, 

For  she  had  found,  where  long  it  had  lain  hid 
In  an  old  vase,  a  little  valentine 

Sent  by  her  now  bald-headed,  dear  papa 

In  childhood  to  her  beautiful  mama. 

They  linger  in  an  ecstasy  of  mirth 
Upon  its  quaint  and  rare  emblazonry, 

Hearts  gules  there  were,  and  flying  arrows  d'or, 
And,  underneath,  this  legend  bold  they  see: 

The  Rose  is  red,  is  red,  the  Violet  blue, 

Sugar  is  sweet,  is  sweet,  and  so  are  you! 
196 


ST.  VALENTINE'S  EVE 

Next  day,  oh,  dearest  in  the  calendar! 

Did  Mortimer  to  lovely  ^^ladeline 
Send  box  de  luxe  of  Huyler's  delicates, 

The  candied  leaves  of  rose  and  violet  fine. 
With  this:     The  Rose  is  red,  the  Violet  blue; 
Sugar  is  sweet,  is  sweet,  and  so  are  You ! 

And  underneath,  writ  with  a  trembling  hand, 
These  words :     In  after  years,  O  Gentle  ]Maid  ! 

If  you  should  find  this  little  valentine 
Hid  in  some  vase  of  porphyry  or  jade, 

And  to  your  husband  show  it,  in  sweet  glee — 

Whisper  your  answer.  Love — may  I  be  he? 


197 


AN   IMAGINARY  EPISTLE  TO    LANDOR 

"  Wordsworth  has  now  written  a  poem  ('Laodamia') 
which  might  be  fitly  read  in  Elysium,  and  the  gods  and 
heroes  gather  round  to  listen." 

Walter  Savage  Landor. 

"  \  A  7ITH  sacrifice  (of  sleep)  till  rising  morn" 
V  V       Could  I,  dear  Landor,  by  your  words 
inspired, 
"Laodamia," — To  the  shades  forlorn 
To  "Gods  and  Heroes"  let  it  be  retired! 
Why  Hamlet  isn't  in  it  for  a  fact, 
His  father's  ghost,  at  least,  remained  intact! 

Fancy  a  widow  in  her  mourning  clad, 

Forth  springing  her  dear  husband's  wraith  to 

clasp, 
"When  insubstantial  form  eludes  her  grasp. " 
But  fancy  how  she  must  have  gone  half  mad 
To  see,  as  often  as  she  would  embrace 
"The  phantom  part  but  part  to  reunite 
And  reassume  its  place  before  her  sight!" 
Small  marvel  that — she  shrieked  and  hid  her  face 
And  on  the  palace  floor  fell  down  quite  flat, 
Ghosts  shouldn't  take  themselves  apart  like  that ! 
198 


IMAGINARY  EPISTLE  TO  LANDOR 

And  note  Protesilaus,  the  old  prig: 
"I  am  not  sent  to  scare  thee  or  deceive" — 
How  could  he  talk  so  in  that  ghastly  rig? 
How  could  he,  laughing  in  his  phantom  sleeve, 
Declare  that  also  to  his  worth  was  due 
The  "boon"  of  this  distracting  interview? 

And  mark  Laodamia's  slang,  dear  Wat. 
It's  really  not  aufait,  you  know,  for  one, 
A  Lady  and  a  Classic  and  what  not, 
To    say,     "Come,     'blooming'    hero,    sit    thee, 
down."  ,..   -^  ,, 

Waving  the  deed's  impossibility,  \'      .? 

The  epithet  it  is  that  startles  me!  ..,."-  .-- 

Still,  I  don't  hold  too  closely  by  the  book, 

But  spectres  shouldn't  poach  in  quick  preserves. 

And  theft  osculatory  in  a  spook 

That  self-dissecting  gets  upon  the  nerves ; 

Heroes  and  Gods  may  like  such  bric-a-brac, 

But  living  lips  for  me. 

Yours  truly, 

Jack. 


199 


THE  REASON 

*  *  /^^  H !     I  know  now ' ' — 'twas  Tommy  spoke- 
^<-y     "Why  Lady's  Slippers  grow; 

Because  sometimes  the  Brownie  folk 
Are  naughty,  don't  you  know?" 


200 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  THREE  BALLS 

AH,  what  a  hostelry  is  this, 
And  what  a  cheerless  Boniface ! 
No  bluff  and  hearty  welcome  his 

Who  enters  here, 
But  every  guest  departing  hence, 
No  matter  where  he  goes,  or  whence 
He  came,  must  leave  as  recompense 
Some  souvenir. 

But  stranger  even  than  the  place, 
Quitting  and  entering  apace, 
Behold  the  pilgrims,  mark  each  face, 

A  motley  throng. 
Footsore  and  travel-stained,  they  wear 
Abandon  of  a  mad  despair, 
Or  stigma  of  excess,  or  air 

Of  shame  and  wrong. 

But  what  refreshment  may  there  be, 
For  him  who  enters  ?     How  may  he 
Here  slake  his  thirst? — Ah,  we  shall  see. 
Mine  host  appears. 

201 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  THREE  BALLS 

Alas,  methinks  that  sorrow's  bread, 
Sinking  into  the  soul  like  lead, 
Is  the  sad  food  with  which  he's  fed; 
His  drink  is  tears! 


202 


GRANDFATHER  AND  CHILD 

Child 

"A  A  7HATare  the  wild  waves  saying, 
V  V       Grandpa,  the  whole  day  long, 

That  ever  amid  our  playing 

I  hear  but  their  wild,  wild  song?" 

Grandfather 

"Oh,  child,  I  hear  no  singing, 

'Tis  but  the  distant  roar 
That  sounds  from  the  bargain  counter 

Of  our  benefactor's  store." 

Child 

"No,  no,  it  is  something  greater 
That  speaks  to  the  heart  alone; 

The  voice  of  the  Wanamaker 
Sounds  in  their  money-tone." 


203 


WHIP-POOR-WILL  AND  KATY-DID 

T    WONDER  what  did  Willy  do 
1        That  he  should  be  chastised, 
That  he  got  Katy  in  it  too 
I'm  not  at  all  surprised. 

For  Willys  have  a  winning  way 

And  Katys'  hearts  are  kind 
And  rather  plastic,  I  must  say, 

And  spoony  as  you'll  find. 

Birds  of  a  plumage,  it  is  said, 

Will  always  flock  together, 
And  Kate  and  Will,  I'm  much  afraid, 

Were  really  of  one  feather. 

The  birds  and  insects  know  it  all, 

And  nightly  in  the  trees — 
Especially  in  early  fall — 

They  watch  such  flirts  as  these. 

Of  course,  they  know  it  all,  for  woods 

Are  very  favorite  spots 
For  boys  and  girls  in  lover-moods 

For  vows  and  sighs  and  knots. 

2G4 


WHIP-POOR-WILL  AND  KATY-DID 

Not  knots  in  wood  but  wooed,  my  Love, 

Excuse  the  parallaxing — 
One  for  asking  is  undone 

The  other  for  the  axings ! 

Did  Willy  come  a  handsome  flirt 

And  play  the  lover's  part 
And  did  Kate  listen  to  the  hurt 

Of  her  poor  little  heart  ? 

Or  was  she  sure  a  naughty  girl 

And  did  she  lead  him  on 
With  her  soft  hand  only  to  hurl 

To  him,  with  Tom  and  John, 

And  Gus  and  Fred,  her  little  mit? 

"She  didn't,"  many  say, 
Which  gives  her  then  the  benefit 

Of  doubt  unto  this  day. 

And  yet  they  say  poor  Will,  which  shows 

He  was  not  all  to  blame, 
Altho'  his  fault  should  merit  blows. 

Publicity,  and  shame. 

Was  it  the  first  time  Willy  sHpped  ? — 

He'll  never  do  it  again, 
Kate  was  so  sweet,  let  him  be  whipped 

With  a  big  sugar  cane. 
205 


WHIP-POOR-WILL  AND  KATY-DID 

But  if  he  was  a  veteran  flirt 
That  came  all  tall  and  dashing 

Poor  Katy's  maiden  heart  to  hurt, 
Then  give  him  a  sound  thrashing. 

Until  he  learn,  in  direst  need, 

To  conjugate  aright, 
"Imperfect"  plighting  can  but  lead 

Into  the  "present"  phght. 


206 


THE  TRUTH  ABOUT  POLLY 

IT'S  "Polly,  put  the  kettle  on," 
And  "Polly,  close  the  door," 
And  "Polly,  wash  the  dishes  up," 
And  "Polly,  sweep  the  floor." 

And  "Polly"— till  I'm  sick  of  it, 

I'm  almost  never  done. 
And  folks  think  all  I've  got  to  do 

Is  "put  the  kettle  on." 

And  Miss  Kate  Greenaway  who  made 

The  pretty  picture  books 
Dressed  me  up  quaint  and  queer,  but  it's 

The  feelin's  not  "de  luxe!" 

For  things  ain't  any  different, 
Since  I've  had  my  likeness  took. 

For  I'm  scapegoat  in  the  kitchen 
If  I'm  landscape  in  the  book, 

So  I  dare  say  I'll  continue, 

Drawing  endless  cups  of  tea, 
While  eyes  are  made  for  seeing 

Only  what  they  want  to  see ! 


207 


THE  HIGHER  EDUCATION  OF  WOMEN 

"More  young  women  went  to  college  from  the  city  of 
Brooklyn  during  the  year  last  past  than  young  men," 

Educational  Statistics. 


W"^? 


HERE  are  you  going,  my  pretty  maid  ? " 
m  going  to  Vassar,  sir, "  she  said. 


"May  I  go  with  you,  my  pretty  maid? 
I  never  have  been  at  college, "  he  said. 

*'Then  I  can't  marry  you,  I'm  afraid." 
"Nobody  asked  you,  Miss,"  he  said. 


208 


AS  TO  JOSEPH  CHAMBERLAIN 

HE  never  came  an  angling, 
But  to  settle  up  a  wrangling 
And  depart; 
But  one  of  Salem's  daughters, 
Like  the  angel,  stirred  the  waters 
Of  his  heart. 

Who  would  not  be  a  lover, 
A  millionaire  twice  over, 

AndM.P.? 
But  as  fair  as  of  his  choosing 
Are  the  fish  that  still  are  musing 

In  the  sea. 


209 


THE    RECKONING 
"the  game  isn't  worth  the  candle" 

SHE  is  old  and  wrinkled  and  thin, 
Gray  and  as  blind  as  a  bat, 
All  bent  like  the  crookedest  pin. 
Poor  and  a  spinster  at  that, 
But  each  night  when  she  goes  to  rest 
In  her  room  beneath  the  eaves. 
She  tenderly  opens  a  chest. 
And  tearfully  turns  the  leaves 
Of  love  letters  yellow  and  old, 
But  love  letters  all  the  same, 
That  will  never,  never  grow  cold 
While  she  can  kiss  the  dear  name 
Writ  bold  at  the  end,  by  a  hand, 
That  could  let  hers  go,  to  play 
With  another,  more  nice  planned, — 
But  who  has  the  game?  I  say. 
The  candle,  see,  burns  to  a  dot, 
He  died  in  a  brawl  in  the  street, 
The  other  girl  married  a  sot — 
And  who  has  the  game?  I  repeat. 


210 


A  GRANDMOTHER'S  STORY 

GOD  bless  this  great  America, 
In  basket  and  in  store, 
But  you've  your  native  heath,  my  bairns, 
Upon  another  shore. 

And  not  in  princely  palaces 

Your  people  had  their  birth, 
But  in  the  straw-thatched  cottages 

On  the  green  slopes  of  Perth. 

'Twas  there  that  Knox,  the  Thunderer, 
Made  his  great  doctrine  known; 

That  the  right  of  private  judgment 
Means  man's  right  to  hold  his  own. 

But  forth  came  one  in  priestly  garb 

Upon  the  stirring  scene, 
To  say  the  masses  of  his  church 

With  sanction  of  the  queen. 

He  set  his  altar  in  the  kirk, 

His  images  and  dips. 
When  from  the  sacred  edifice 

A  little  laddie  slips. 

211 


A  GRANDMOTHER'S  STORY 

And  hurls  a  stone  with  all  his  might 

And  sure  aim  at  the  priest,  ' 
Crying,  "Awa'  with  idols  vain; 

Awa'  with  idols,  beast!" 

Then  fell  the  papist  hirehng 
Upon  that  thoughtless  child; 

The  fight  was  on,  the  factions  met, 
The  little  town  went  wild. 

You'll  read  in  all  your  history  books 

The  rioting  at  Perth, 
Set  on  by  that  wee  Protestant 

From  whom  you  have  your  birth. 

They  called  him  David,  bairnies  mine, 

Like  his  namesake  of  old ; 
His  only  weapon  was  a  stone, 

'Gainst  error  mad  and  bold. 

Aye  mind  from  him  we  have  our  line, 

We  in  this  far-off  land. 
But  every  ground  is  sacred  ground 

Whereon  the  faithful  stand. 

And  when  you  say  your  prayers  at  night, 

Ask  at  the  Throne  of  Grace 
' '  God  of  our  fathers  be  the  God 

Of  their  succeeding  race." 

212 


A  GRANDMOTHER'S  STORY 

And  bless  His  name  for  this  our  day, 
When  creeds  no  stone  may  cast, 

Nor  any  claim  the  only  way 
That  leads  to  Him  at  last, 

God  bless  your  great  America, 

In  basket  and  in  store ; 
Your  comings  in  and  goings  out , 

My  bairns,  forever  more. 


213 


TO  GORDON  PRYOR  RICE:  WITH  A  COPY 
OF  THE  RUBAIYAT 

THE  pleasures  of  the  vine,  alas ! 
But  sung  with  such  consummate  art, 
That  clergy  and  girl  graduate 

Have  got  the  deathless  vSong  by  heart. 


214 


M 


K.C.  OF  C.C. 

Y  dear  one  when  she  was  alive  with  the 
rest 

I  held  her  the  dearest  and  loved  her  the  best,  " 
But  now  that  each  morning  and  evening  breeze 

stirs 
O'er  her  grave,   thou  art  mine,   love,   because 
thou  wert  hers, — My  Kate! 


215 


TO  M.  H.  B.— :  WITH  A  COPY  OF 
MRS.  PRYOR'S  "reminiscences; 

THESE  will  serve  to  recall  it, 
Our  life's  happy  morn, 
When  for  you  and  for  me,  dear, 
A  friendship  was  born 
So  noble,  and  steadfast 
And  tender  and  true, 
That  to  tell  the  whole  story 
Would  take  volume  two ! 


2X6 


N 


BEFORE  THE  BURIAL 

TO  M.  H.  B. 

OW  that  thy  days  have  saddened  to  an  end , 
How  did  I  love  thee,  O  my  friend,  my 
friend  ? 


I  loved  thee  as  thirst  loves  the  water  brooks , 
Or  as  the  midnight  student  loves  his  books . 

Or  as  the  patriot  his  native  soil, 

Or  poet  the  rhymed  guerdon  of  his  toil. 

I  loved  thee  as  the  cloud  the  rainbow  arc , 
Or  as  the  listening  morning  loves  the  lark . 

Or  as  the  cloistered  nun  her  rosary, 
I  joyed  to  count  thy  kindnesses  to  me. 

I  loved  thy  faith  when  mine  was  shrouded  o'er, 
Thy  courage  when  mine  ebbed  at  every  pore. 

I  loved  thy  footsteps  coming  up  the  stair 
That  ever  seemed  like  answer  to  a  prayer. 

Thy  laughter  and  thy  tears  were  dear  to  me — 
Now  there  is  neither  mirth  nor  pain  with  thee. 
217 


BEFORE  THE  BURIAL 

Where  hast  thou  wandered  in  a  vast  amaze, 
Since  y ester-noon,  when  parted  all  our  ways? 

How  often  have  I  left  thee  at  the  gate — 

Nay,  but  I  will  once  more,  the  morn — then  wait. 

For  we  shall  meet  again,  0  friend,  my  friend, 
And  love  as  we  have  loved,  world  without  end. 


218 


IN  MEMORIAM 

M.    H.    B. 

SHE  loved  to  lighten  up  a  shadowy  spot, 
vShrinking   from    praise    as    others    shrink 
from  blame, 
But  He  who  watches  Israel,  slumbering  not. 
Shall  when  His  morning  breaks  tell  her  dear 
name. 


219 


TO  HILDA 

AN  old  Home,  an  old  Friend,  an  old  Book,  an 
old  Shoe, 
Pray  in  all  the  worid  is  there  anything  better, 
Excepting  young  Love,  yet  that  ever  is  new, 

Ever  paying  its  debts,  yet  ever  a  debtor! — 
Since  that  can't  be  between  us,  and  it  can't 
forsooth, 
Here's  my  old,  old,  old  Friendship , 
Sweetheart  of  my  Youth ! 


220 


THE  LEADER 


E.  B.  M. 


ON  Pisgah's  crowning  summit 
Art  thou  content  to  stand 
For  one  supernal  moment 

And  view  the  Promised  Land? 
Then  hear  that  awful  fiat — 

"Though  thou  hast  fought  and  won, 
Unflinchingly,  another 

Shall  lead  this  people  on." 

Willing?     Then  art  thou  worthy 

To  guide.     At  Love's  behest 
Where  two  or  three  are  gathered 

Love's  self  makes  good  the  rest. 
From  that  divine  communion 

No  Leader  can  depart. 
Even  though  dead  he  speaketh 

Cheer,  to  each  loyal  heart. 


TO  DELLIE  FOR  HER  ALBUM 

T  LOVE  thee  well,  my  little  girl, 
1      And  more  than  this,  I  cannot  tell, 
Perhaps  there  is  no  more,  my  Pearl, — 
My,  that's  enough  then!  fare-thee-well ! 


222 


TO  HENRY  R.  JONES,  ESQ.:  WITH  A 
CANDLESTICK 

WHO  is  my  neighbor?     Who  but  he 
That  spills  the  wine  of  mirth 
And  oil  of  gladness  when  the  world 
Observes  Love's  humble  birth. 

I  sent  a  little  candlestick 

At  the  sweet  Christmas  time 
Not  dreaming  that  like  Aaron's  rod 

'Twould  blossom  into  rhyme ! 

But  Love  still  stirs  the  fire,  in 

The  embers  of  the  past 
And  the  dear  words  the  Poet  sang 

Shall  last  while  I  shall  last. 


223 


TO  H.  R.  JONES,  ESQ'RE:     WITH  A 
NEW  ENGLAND  PRIMER 

THE  breaking  waves  dashed  high 
Upon  the  rocks  and  stones 
When  a  band  of  exiles  moored  their  bark 

O'er  haunts  of  Davy  Jones. 
Had  Davy  called  them  down, 

Wh  ere  would  the  world  now  be  ? 
Without  a  "Primer"  in  its  hand 
To  learn  its  A  B  C ! 

Then  rise  good  men  and  true 

To  sing  the  praise  of  Jones, 
Who  spared  those  exiles,  when  he  might 

E  'en  now  possess  their  bones, 
And  likewise  sing  the  praise 

Of  that  brave  Pilgrim  band 
Who  straightway  scattered  A  B  C's 

B  roadcast  upon  the  land. 


224 


ICHABOD.     L'ENVOI 

TO   A.    J.    C. 

WHERE  art  Thou  fled,  beloved  Guest, 
That  used  erstwhile  to  visit  me 
With  rich  reward  and  high  bequest, 
For  my  poor  hospitality. 

And  yet  it  seemed  not  poor,  when  Thou — 
Compassionate,  august,  benign, 

A  radiant  nimbus  round  thy  brow — 
Didst  by  acceptance  make  it  fine. 

I  know  Thee  not,  I  could  not  call 

Thy  name,  if  name  indeed  Thou  hast, 

I  know  not  if  Thou  art  at  all. 

Or  where  it  chanced  I  saw  Thee  last. 

Perhaps  Thou  art  the  Muse,  indeed. 
Whom  Poets  of  an  olden  time. 

Were  wont  to  call  on  in  their  need 

When  thought  refused  to  flow  in  rhyme. 

Perhaps  Thou  art  the  high  Ideal, 

That  with  those  happy  days,  has  flown 

When  unrealities  were  real. 
And  Life's  realities  unknown. 
15  225 


ICHABOD.     L'ENVOI 

Where  Thou  art,  Thou  comest  no  more, 
If  deed  of  mine  has  driven  Thee 

Away  in  sorrow  from  my  door, 
Say  that  Thou  hast  forgiven  me — 

And  turn  to  look  on  me  again. 

With  those  deep,  Hmpid  lover's  eyes 

That  thrilled  me  with  ecstatic  pain, 
My  all  suffering,  only  prize — 

And,  Muse  or  Ideal  of  my  Youth, 
I  will  arise  and  follow  Thee, 

Nay,  then  perhaps  Thou  art  the  Truth, 
I'll  write  my  poems  in  my  deeds. 


226 


TO  M.G.L. 

O WONDERFUL,  0  Counsellor! 
If  Thou  in  Galilee, 
Didst  live  a  Man, — yet  without  sin. 

Marvellous  Mystery, — 
Thou  knowest  what  is  human  life. 

Its  care  and  pain  and  grief. 
Thou  knowest  it  all,  Lord,  I  believe. 
Help  Thou  mine  unbelief! 

Counsel  Thou  me,  O  Wonderful, 

Teach  me  of  Thy  piu-e  Love, 
Does  it  on  waiting  hearts  descend 

From  Heaven,  a  Holy  Dove? 
Does  it  to  stranded  souls  bring  back 

The  olive  leaf  of  peace  ? 
Enduring  all  things,  hoping  all, 

Till  life's  loud  noises  cease? 

Lord,  I  believe  it  hath  such  power. 
Help  Thou  mine  unbelief! 

O  make  it  mine  from  this  good  hour, 
Come  Thou  to  my  relief. 
227 


TO  M.  G.  L. 

Earth's  soil  is  on  my  garments,  Christ, 
Earth's  discords  in  my  praise. 

Marred  and  unreal  the  work  I  do, 
Feeble  the  hands  I  raise. 

Human  approval  pleases  me, 

When  I  should  crave  but  Thine, 
I  prize,  past  telling,  human  love, 

Shrine  me.  Thou  Love  Divine. 
I  labor  looking  for  reward, 

And  when  none  doth  appear, 
I  cry,  "Thy  counsels  cheated  me," 

Self -blinded  heart  and  sere! 

But  Love  can  gather  harvests,  where 

The  Tempter's  hand  has  sown, 
Can  turn  life's  waters  into  wine, 

To  bread  the  harvest  stone. 
O  heaven-descended!     Wonderful! 

0  baptism  of  Love ! 
The  atmosphere  of  Thy  pure  house 

Breathe  on  my  soul,  O  Dove! 

For  I  have  buffeted  the  waves, 

Wrestled  with  sin  and  grief, 
From  my  dear  Ararat  I  cry, 

Christ,  send  me  back  the  leaf! 
O  Wonderful,  0  Counsellor, 

O  mighty  Prince  of  Peace, 
The  least  of  all  Thy  subjects  prays — 

Bid  all  my  passions  cease ! 
228 


THE  LIVING  CHRIST 

TO  M.  L.  B. 

I  HAVE  found  Judas,  with  his  money  bags, 
Bartering  away  Love's  very  self  for  gold; 
And  Thomas,  with  a  tardy  faith  that  lags 
Till  it  can  find  a  fact  to  have  and  hold ; 

And  Peter,  who  has  learned  a  sorr\'  knack 

Of  owning  Christ  on  Sundays,  'mid  his  sheep, 

But  through  the  week,  upon  the  world's  sharp 
rack. 
Denying  him  without  the  time  to  weep. 

But  Jesus, — they  have  taken  Him  away, 
And  buried  Him  alas!     I  know  not  where. 

Weary  and  hea\w  laden,  day  by  day 

I  make  my  quest  and  lift  my  heart  in  prayer. 

But,  oh,  I  find  Him  not,  I  find  Him  not ! 

Only  the  grave-clothes  that  He  left  behind, 
Only  His  garments,  where  they  cast  the  lot. 

Only  the  scourge,  the  thorns,  the  cross,  I  find. 
229 


THE  LIVING  CHRIST 

Where  have  they  laid  Him?    Will  none  hear  my 
cry? 

Night  is  far  spent:     I  seek  a  living  Christ. 
He  said  that  He  would  rise  again,  and  I 

Must  hasten  at  the  dawn  to  keep  my  tryst. 

Nay,  what  if  it  might  be  He  lives  again 

In  hearts  that  bear  the  scourge,  the  thorns, 
the  cross ! 
Arise,  my  soul!     It  shall  not  be  in  vain. 

Thy  quest  where  sorrow  bides,  and  hurt  and 
loss. 


230 


TOM.G.  L. 

THERE  in  the  upper  room  she  lay, 
So  still  and  safe  I  thought  she  slept, 

Come,  come  awav, 

To  me  they  said, 

And  softly  wept 

For  she  is  dead. 
A  shadow  in  the  upper  room 
I  move  'mid  shadows,  as  they  loom 
What  is  it  seems  to  whisper  me — 
From  all  earth's  myriad  sounds  apart — 
And  do  I  speak,  or  is  it  she, 
**Nay,  which  of  us  has  died,  dear  Heart?" 


231 


THE  CHRISTENING 

TO  CHARLOTTE 

THEY  call  thee  what  they  will,  dear, 
'Twere  joy  enough  for  me, 
If  on  thy  heart  of  hearts,  dear, 
My  name  might  graven  be. 

But  that  is  not  for  me,  dear, 
Such  place  I  may  not  claim, 

I  take  what  thou  wilt  give,  dear. 
Wilt  thou  accept  my  name  ? 

God  knoweth  all  the  rest,  dear. 

Whatever  there  may  be 
In  all  the  years  to  come,  dear. 

Of  joy  or  pain  to  thee. 

But  we  are  His,  are  His,  dear, 

Whate'er  the  future  hide. 
Through  generations  all,  dear. 

His  mercies  shall  abide. 

And  on  the  threshold  now,  dear. 

Be  this  my  only  prayer: — 
No  word  or  thought  of  mine,  dear, 

May  dim  the  Name  we  share. 
23a 


TO  ELSIE 

1AM  in  love, 
Deep  down  in  love, 
And  Elsie  is  the  lass 
That  brought  me  to  this  pass. 

In  her  pure  eyes 

A  heaven  lies 
And  all  her  soulful  air 
Is  holy  like  a  prayer. 

She  little  knows 
That  when  she  goes, 
I  lead  a  life  of  praise 
Until  she  comes  again. 

She  little  dreams 

Her  coming  seems 
The  dawn  that  tells  the  day 
Is  on  its  upward  way. 

Should  I  reveal 

The  love  I  feel 
She'd  think  it  was  all  chaff 
And  laugh  a  rippling  laugh . 
233 


TO  ELSIE 

Like  a  brook's  sound 

In  stony  ground 
And  like  a  brook  at  play 
She,  too,  would  run  away. 

Oh,  Lassie  fleet 

Run  on  to  meet 
The  love  that  like  a  sea 
Waits  even  now  for  thee 

Not  mine,  not  mine 

This  joy  divine. 
But  for  some  chevalier 
Without  reproach  or  fear. 

You  see  I  can't, 

I'm  Elsie's  Aunt; 
Besides  'twould  never  do 
For  she  is  only  two ! 


234 


TO  CHARLOTTE  ON  HER  FOURTH 
BIRTHDAY 

AND  has  the  day  come  round  again  ? 
Dear  Child,  it  seems  to  me 
So  very  brief  a  time  ago 

That  you  were  only  three ! 
And  scarcely  further  seems  the  day 

That  made  you  two  years  old, 
Or  one  year — see  upon  my  hand 

The  sum  of  them  is  told ! 
And  yet  it  is  a  better  world 

For  your  four  little  years : 
They  make  more  precious  all  our  hopes 

Less  bitter  all  our  tears. 
Stay  with  us  to  make  glad  our  lives, 

May  not  a  shadow  pass 
Across  the  sunshine  of  your  own — 

God  bless  you,  little  Lass! 


235 


TO  "BROWNIE" 

[WANT  you  for  my  Valentine, 
Brownie  mine, 
Through  all  my  life  and  thine, 

Brownie  mine. 
E'en  though  some  day  a  Lover  fine, 
Shall  whisper,  "Be  my  Valentine" 
Still,  still  I'll  call  you,  Brownie  mine, 
My  Valentine ! 


2^_ 


MY  CHARLOTTE 

WHO  never  had  a  little  Niece, 
Who  never  was  an  Aunt, 
Can  he  tell  what  day  is  To-day  ? 
Why  no,  of  course  he  can't! 

Who  never  loved  a  little  Lass, 

And  shared  with  her  a  name. 
Which,  thro'  all  chance  and  change  of  life, 

Will  still  remain  the  same. 

How  can  he  know  the  joy  that  fills — 
Pressed  down  and  running  o'er — 

My  happy  heart,  for  it  has  come, 
The  natal  day,  once  more. 

Then  here's  a  health,  my  little  Girl, — 

May  each  and  every  year 
Come  in  new  laden  with  new  joys, 

But  keep  the  old  hearts  dear! 


^2>1 


DAISY  AND  BUTTERCUP 

This  story  is  told  for  the  sweet,  sweet  sake 
Of  Aunt  Lottie's  Darling,  Elsie  Blake 

ONE  day  a  little  Daisy  flower 
And  yellow  Buttercup 
Were  sitting  by  the  road-side  hedge, 

When  a  big  shower  came  up, 
The  rain  just  loved  to  spatter  down 

On  the  poor  little  things. 
Oh,  dear,  oh,  dear,  what  shall  they  do? 

If  only  they  had  wings. 
Or  a  green  silk  umbrella, 
Or  if  some  little  feller 
Would  lend  them  his  and  rubbers  too — 

What  ever  shall  they  do? 
Will  no  one  come  along 

And  take  them  in?  it's  very  wrong 
To  leave  them  there  alone. 
All  dripping  wet. 
And  cold  as  stone, 
The}^  moan  and  groan 
And  groan  and  moan. 
Where  ever  shall  they  get  ? 
238 


DAISY  AND  BUTTERCUP 

At  last  a  kind  old  gentleman 

Came  walking  down  the  road, 
And  saw  the  poor  dear  little  flowers — 

''Too  bad,  upon  my  word," 
He  said,  "that  you  should  get  so  wet; 

I'll  take  you  home  with  me,  my  dears, 
To  my  own  little  Pet, 

She'll  make  you  dearies  in  a  trice 
All  glad  and  snug  and  warm  and  nice. 

Oh  come,  come,  dry  your  tears!" 
He  stooped  down  gently,  and  he  took 

Each  dripping  little  flower, 
And  placed  it  softly  in  his  book 

Safe  from  the  angry  shower. 
And  then  he  put  the  book  away 

In  a  pocket  on  his  breast ; 
The  little  darlings  went  to  sleep 

So  glad  to  be  at  rest. 
When  they  were  wide  awake  again, 
•   Their  little  leaves  in  curl,  ^ 

Why !  where  do  you  think  they  found  themselves  ? 

In  the  hands  of  a  little  Girl ! 
So  happy  they  were  when  they  looked  up 

The  Daisy  and  the  Buttercup. 


239 


w 


TO  CHARLOTTE 

HERE  are  you  going,  my  pretty  maid? 
"To  post  a  valentine,"  she  said. 


"  Whom  is  it  to,  my  pretty  maid?" 
''That  I  can't  tell  you,  I'm  afraid." 

"  But  what  if  I  look  at  the  envelope?" 
"You  wouldn't  be  so  rude,  I  hope!" 

"  Perhaps  it's  to  me,  my  pretty  maid?' ' 
"You'll  have  to  guess  again,"  she  said. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  but  I  see 
The  address,  plain  as  plain  can  be. 

"  It's  to  'Papa,'  my  little  maid," 
"Well,  don't  I  love  him  best?"  she  said 


240 


ELSIE'S  PARTY:     WELCOME 

SWEET  April  has  come  back  again 
With  sunshine  and  with  gentle  rain, 

To  soften  hard  old  winter's  heart 
And  bid  the  flowers  and  grasses  start. 

To  whisper  to  the  birds — "Fly  home, 
The  time  for  building  nests  has  come." 

To  make  the  earth  each  day  more  fair 
Shedding  a  glory  everywhere! 

And  our  glad  hearts  are  all  in  tune 
To  welcome  you  this  afternoon 

With  song  and  speech  from  little  elves — 
Who'll — stay  and  see  what  for  yourselves! 


16  241 


ELSIE'S  PARTY:     FINALE 

OUR  little  play  is  over, 
No  more  the  prompter  calls, 
The  lights  grow  dim  and  dimmer, 
The  final  curtain  falls. 

The  Juvenile  Peak  Sisters  , 
From  Pike  his  Peak  out  west 

To  give  you  entertainment 
Have  done  their  very  best. 

And  for  your  kind  attention 

And  generous  applause 
For  which,  dear  friends  and  neighbors. 

We  tried  to  give  you  cause, 

We  now  before  we  leave  you 
Our  hearty  thanks  wpuld  speak 

In  our  own  kind  and  fashion 
Which  is — Peak  Sisters  Peak ! 


242 


TO  CHARLOTTE 

OH,  if  I  were  a  gallant  knight 
And  rode  a  prancing  steed 
I'd  spur  hirn  on,  this  Saint's  dear  day, 
And  to  your  window  speed. 

"Give  me,"  I'd  cry,  "  a  ribbon.  Love, 

Or  just  a  finger  ring. 
Or  precious  lock  of  shining  hair. 

Nay — any  trifling  thing!" 

And  I  should  place  it  next  my  heart, 
And  proudly  ride  and  fleet, 

To  fight  for  love  and  truth  and  right 
Which  means  for  you,  my  sweet! 

If  blameless,  then  I'd  hie  me  back 
Tho'  barriers  should  combine. 

And  whisper  softly — "Lady,  may 
I  be  your  Valentine  ? ' ' 


243 


WHAT  WOULD  YOU  DO 


BROWNIE 


N 


OW  what  would  you  do  please,  if  you  were 
a  kitten? 


CHARLOTTE 

I'd  play  with  the  ball  of  a  half-finished  mitten. 

'"brownie" 

I  wouldn't,  I'd  just  go  all  over  the  house, 
To  find  a  live  plaything  and  that  is  a  mouse. 

CHARLOTTE 

I'd  rather  curl  up  in  some  little  girl's  lap. 

Or  in  some  dear  Grandma's  when  taking  her  nap. 

"brownie" 

Oh,  pleasant er  far  a  fine  morning  in  spring 
To  gather  some  catnip,  I'm  fond  of  the  thing. 

BOTH,    HOLDING   HANDS 

I   know  what   we'd   both   do — if  kittens — and 

that's 
Just  grow  in  a  verv^  short  time  to  be  cats ! 
244 


TO  CHARLOTTE:  WITH  A  COPY   OF 
'•PILGRIM'S  PROGRESS." 

OH.  little  Pilgrim  entering 
L'pon  the  Heavenly  road, 
Oh.  little  heart  unburdened, 
As  yet.  by  any  load, 

Only  by  stillest  waters 

Where  greenest  pastures  be, 

God  lead  thee  till  His  city 
Thy  happy  eyes  shall  see. 


245 


TO  ELSIE:  A  VALENTINE 

I'LL  choose  me  now  a  Valentine, 
— A  jewel  that  shall  never  tine — 
She  must  be  fair  and  sweet  and  true 

And  pure  as  springtime's  morning  dew, 
With  eyes  that  hold  a  world  of  love, 

And  a  calm  brow  those  eyes  above 
Whereon  whoever  looks  must  feel 

That  Truth  has  set  its  perfect  seal. 
Her  smile  must  have  the  radiant  power 

To  glorify  the  darkest  hour, 
Her  Voice  come  melting  from  her  throat 

Soft  as  the  ring-dove's  plaintive  note- 
Where  shall  I  find  this  Valentine, 

This  jewel  that  shall  never  tine? 
Nay,  search  your  own  heart,  little  Girl, 

And  you  will  find  this  priceless  Pearl. 


246 


TO  CHARLOTTE:  WITH  A  BOX  OF 
MARSHMALLOWS 

MARSHMALLOW 

IT  hears  the  birds  at  their  matins, 
It  sees  the  dome  of  the  sky, 
And  watches  the  dreamy  shadows, 
That  low  on  the  marshes  He. 

Pink  as  a  sea  shell's  lining. 

Glad  as  a  lamb  at  play. 
It  gathers  into  its  bosom 

The  entire  light  of  day. 

Its  root  in  the  shifting  marshlands, 

It  raises  its  heart  above, 
And  distils  its  hidden  sweetness 

For  the  Lady  of  my  Love ! 


247 


TO  "BROWNIE" 

OCOME,  my  little  nut-brown  maid, 
And  sit  thee  down  by  me 
While  I  recount  the  different  ways 
In  which  thou'rt  dear  to  me. 

Thou'rt  dear  to  me  because  thine  eyes 

Are  deeply  brown  and  true 
And  filled  with  happy  sunshine, 

Sometimes  with  tears,  like  dew. 

Thou'rt  dear  to  me  because  thy  hair 

Is  like  a  pony's  mane 
That  restless  tosses  up  and  down 

And  down  and  up  again. 

Thou'rt  dear  to  me  because  thy  mouth 

Is  like  a  rosebud  sweet. 
The  tender  home  of  gentle  words 

Where  mirth  and  goodness  meet . 

But  thou  art  dearest,  dear  to  me 

Because  thy  heart  is  true 
And  full  of  little  kindnesses, 

Sweet  nut-brown  maid,  adieu. 


24& 


THE   JAPANEvSE   FAN 

TO    "  BROWXIE  " 

THERE  was  a  small  maiden 
That  came  from  Japan, 
And  she  lived  quite  alone 
On  one  side  of  a  fan. 

She  wore  a  big  sash, 

And  had  skewers  in  her  hair, 
And.  braced  upon  nothing. 

She  sat  in  the  air. 

How  she  managed  to  do  it 

I  really  can't  say, 
Unless  in  Japan  things 

Are  queered  in  that  way. 

She  hadn't  the  semblance 

Of  even  a  cloud 
To  support  her,  puzzling 

It  must  be  allowed. 

I  pitied  her  so 

Sitting  always  like  that 
That  I  thought  I  would  draw 

A  chair  where  she  sat. 
249 


THE  JAPANESE  FAN 

But  then  to  myself  I 

Said,  "What  if  you  please 

Would  the  chair  rest  upon 
You'd  provide  for  her  ease  ? ' 

"Oh!  I  have  it,"  I  cried 

My  pencil  in  air, 
' '  The  soft  waning  moon 

She  shall  have  for  a  chair.  " 

My  pencil  I  used,  and 

As  snug  as  a  coon 
In  a  tree  cuddled  up 

Lolls  the  girl  in  the  moon. 

I  can  look  at  her  now 

And  my  back  doesn't  ache 

And  my  neck  isn't  stiff 

And  my  knee  joints  don't  quake 

I  can  now  take  my  comfort 
Night,  morning,  and  noon, 

My  feet  on  the  fender. 
My  Girl  in  the  moon . 


250 


TO  CHARLOTTZ 

DEAR  child,  I  ask  not  what  I  woul  1 
For  who  can  pray  aright  ^ 
Denied  desires  may  work  for  good , 
And  granted  mar  and  bhght. 

Therefore  I  make  this  only  prayer, 
Sweet  woman  child,  for  thee, — 

As  guide  and  stay  may  Love  be  there 
Where'er  thy  pathway  be. 


251 


TO  CHARLOTTE 

ONLY  a  child  but  yester  year, 
But  time  will  have  its  way — Ah  me! 
And  now  her  eager  feet  draw  near 

To  where  the  streamlet  meets  the  sea. 

Forever  on,  and  tarry  not 

Love  like  an  ocean  deep  and  wide 

Awaits  thy  coming,  maiden  fleet, 

Yield  thee — and  thine  are  time  and  tide. 

On  errands  it  will  carry  thee 

Of  sacrifice  or  high  emprise, 
Until  thy  longing  eyes  shall  see 

The  day-dawn  of  the  "Happy  Isles." 


253- 


EASTER 

TO  ELSIE 

THO'  death  itself  had  coldly  sealed 
The  lips  that  spoke, 
See  Mary  at  the  Master's  tomb 

When  morning  broke. 
Obedient  to  the  living  word 

Of  the  Lord  Christ, 
In  perfect  trust  and  unafraid 

She  kept  her  tryst. 
And  lo,  without  the  vacant  tomb 

Her  name  she  heard, — 
* '  Mary ! ' '     She  turned  herself  and  saith : 

"Rabboni!"     "Lord!"— 
Great  conqueror  of  life  and  death 

I  turn  to  Thee. 
Tho'  long  the  night,  when  morning  breaks 

Oh.  call  Thou  me! 


253 


TO  CHARLOTTE:  EIGHTEEN 

LOVE  may  not  be  o'ertaken 
Upon  the  great  highway, 

With  barter  and  requital 

And  in  the  glare  of  day; 

Nay,  Lass,  the  rather  hide  thee 
In  dreamland  cloisters  dim 
Where  thou  mayst  safely  bide  thee 
Till  one  seek  thee,  and  to  him 
— God  grant  the  happy  day — 
Give,  give  thy  heart  away! 


254 


EASTER 
"to  brownie" 

AH,  may  the  risen  Lord  to-day 
For  us  have  sweet  surprise, 
And  as  we  question,  by  the  way, 
Unseal  our  holden  eyes. 

That  we  with  new  and  burning  hearts 

May  look  into  His  face. 
And  hear  the  wondrous  words  He  speaks 

n  only  for  a  space, 

How  Love  alone,  is  Conqueror, 

And  there  is  none  beside, 
In  heaven  or  earth, — Christ  in  our  hearts 

Still  ma}^  this  truth  abide. 


255 


TO  CHARLOTTE:  IN  EUROPE 

THERE'S  a  little  Lass  over  the  water, 
The  dearest  of  lassies  to  me, 
And  I  wish  she  might  for  one  moment 

Come  back  again  over  the  sea. 
But  why  do  I  utter  vagaries 

When  such  a  thing  never  could  be? 

Nay,  he  of  the  vision  of  Patmos 

Has  told  how  in  Heaven  above 
There  shall  be  no  more  sea,  blessed  Homeland! 

Then  what  can  impossible  prove 
To  the  hearts  that  in  unity  traverse 

The  ineffable  Heaven  of  Love? 

So  I  walk  and  I  talk  with  my  Lassie 

Whenever  in  fancy  I  roam. 
And  dream  of  the  time  of  her  coming 

Across  the  great  highway  of  foam 
From  far  lands  of  song  and  of  story 

Back,  back  to  the  old  folks  at  Home! 


256 


EASTER 

TO  ELSIE  AND  "BROWNIE" 

THE  Lord  is  risen,  the  angels  tell, 
Behold  the  awful  miracle: 
The  stone  rolled  by  the  tomb  unsealed, 
The  power  of  the  Christ  revealed. 

Oh,  wondering  souls,  is  this  the  test 
On  which  your  hopes  of  Heaven  ye  rest 

Nay,  Christ  is  risen  each  hour  for  you 
That  sees  you  patient,  brave,  and  true. 

And  every  day  is  Easter  Day 
Whene'er  the  angels  roll  away 

From  off  your  souls  their  burdening  load 
And  ye  have  glimpses  of  your  God. 


257 


TO  CHARLOTTE:  'AT  THE  TIME  OF  THE 
CANONIZATION  OF  JOAN  OF  ARC 

JOAN    OF    ARC 

OH,  peasant  girl  of  Orleans, 
In  the  skies  of  our  worldly  day 
Are  seen  no  Heavenly  visions, 
Is  heard  no  call  to  obey. 

The  mystic,  inner  whisperings,  yet 

The  story  of  your  fears, 
Your  triumphs  and  your  mart^^rdom , 

Blinds  all  our  eyes  with  tears. 

For  you  held  your  country's  banner 
At  the  head  of  a  conquering  host. 

Then  saw  it  rent  by  scorn  and  hate. 
With  all  it  stood  for — lost. 

But  there  came  the  final  glory, 
The  stake  and  the  martyr  flame 

Unquenchable,  to  aureole 
Forevermore  your  name : 

Be  the  story  an  evangel 

To  us,  and  may  God  impart, 
Even  now,  some  Heavenly  vision 

To  each  obedient  heart. 


258 


TO  ELSIE:     WITH  A  COPY  OF  WILLIAM 
MORRIS'S  POEMS 

THE  Singer,  not  the  song  is  new, 
The  Prophet,  not  the  theme, 
The  Rose-leaf,  not  the  drop  of  dew, 

The  Dreamer,  not  the  dream. 
The  morning  stars  together  sang 

Love's  song  of  old, — 
It  shall  be  sung  when  like  a  scroll 
The  heavens  are  rolled. 


259 


TO    "BROWNIE":     WITH    A    BUNCH    OF 
VIOLETS 

THE  Violets  tell  each  other, 
In  the  early  summer  time, 
How  long  ago  some  man  or  bo}' 

Made  up  a  little  rhyme 
About  them  for  a  Valentine. 
It  went  like  this,  line  after  line: 
"The  Rose  is  red,  the  Violet  blue. 
Sugar  is  sweet,  and  so  are  you!" 

And  so  I  send  these  Violets 

To  you,  my  Valentine, 
And  let  me  say  the  rhyme  again 

Adding  one  little  line: 
It's  just  as  true  as  true  can  be 
As  every  one  can  plainly  see — 
"The  Rose  is  red,  the  Violet  blue, 
Sugar  is  sweet, "  and  Brownie  too! 


260 


"DINNA  FORGET" 
TO    charlotte:    with  a   copy   of    "gems    of 

SCOTTISH  song" 

OH,  when  the  fire  is  on  the  hearth, 
And  winter's  storms  have  come. 
Sit  down  beside  me,  Lassie  mine, 
And  sing  the  songs  of  home! 

The  songs  of  sweetheart  and  of  wife. 

Of  husband  leal  and  true, 
The  songs  of  country  and  of  king 

And  border  bonnets  blue. 

"My  Love  is  like  a  red,  red  Rose" 

And  "Annie  Laurie,  "  sing, 
And  * '  Are  you  sure  the  news  is  true  ? ' ' 

Then  make  the  echoes  ring. 

With  "Scots  wha'  ha'  wi'  Wallace  bled" 

And  Royal  Charlie's  line — 
Then  hand-in-hand,  m}-  bonnie  Lass, 

We'll  sing  dear  "Auld  Lang  Syne." 


261 


TO   ELSIE:     A  SONNET 

I  WOULD  not  have  thy  hair  a  tint  more  brown, 
I  would  not  want  thine  eyes  a  shade  more 
blue, 
For  dear,  my  Girl,  you  would  not  then  be  you ! 
And  I  must  forfeit  the  sweet  lore  I  own : 
For   thou  hast  taught    me  hair  like  thine 's  a 

crown. 
And  sea-blue  eyes  are  sweet  and  brave  and  true 
And  pure  as  morning-glories  wet  with  dew, 
Where'er  I  see  them  meekly  looking  down ! 
Nor  would  I  have  thee  wiser,  better.  Girl, 
For  then  thou  wouldst  be  canonized  outright, 
And  I  must  wed  a  woman,  not  a  saint. 
Be  but  thy  simple,  very  self,  my  Pearl — • 
A  creature  of  the  Springtime  and  the  Light — 
And  I  shall  never  utter  a  complaint ! 


262 


TO  CHARLOTTE:  WITH  A  RING 

ONLY  a  little  circle  of  gold 
And  a  crystallized  drop  of  dew 
That  left  their  home  in  the  deep,  dark  earth 
To  shine  evermore  for  you. 

For  the  Birthday  has  come  round  again, 

And  the  circle  of  gold  I  send 
As  symbol  of  my  love,  dear  child, 

Without  beginning  or  end. 

For  it  had  birth  in  the  bosom  of  God 

Through  all  our  race,  you  see 
And  shall  never,  never  have  ending 

Through  all  His  eternit3^ 

Therefore  I  send  the  drop  of  dew 

And  the  little  circle  of  gold, 
And  lift  a  thankful  heart  to  God 

For  the  wee  Lamb  of  the  fold. 


263 


TO  CHARLOTTE 

A   HUMBLE  and  a  lowly  thing  is  Love, 
Yet  when  it  draweth  nigh 
The  heavenly  gates  are  lifted  up  above 

Into  the  utmost  sky, 
For  King  of  kings  and  Lord  of  lords  is  Love, 

Yet  will  it  enter  in 
To  hearts  that  lowliest  and  humblest  prove. 
For  Love  is — Love ! 


264 


TO    CHARLOTTE:    WITH    "A    BOOK     OF 
VERSES" 

"    A    BOOK  of  Verses  underneath  the  Bough, 
ix      A  Jug  of  Wine,  a  Loaf  of  Bread  and  Thou 

Beside  me  singing  in  the  Wilderness — 
Oh,  Wilderness  were  Paradise  enow!" 

So  sang  the  poet  of  an  earlier  day 

*  *  The  Wild  were  Paradise ' '  enough ! — I  say 

Had  he  but  known  My  Lady,  his  fond  heart, 
Methinks,  had  taught  him.  in  this  wise  to  pray: 

With  Book  of  Verses  underneath  the  Tree 
I  ask  for  neither  Wine  nor  Bread — with  Thee 

Beside  me  singing  in  the  Wilderness 

The  Wilderness  were  Heaven  itself  to  me! 


265 


TO  ELSIE:     WITH  A  SOFA  PILLOW 

LOVE  send  you  day-dreams  from  the  sky, 
— The  Pillow's  from  a  mortal — 
May  shadow  of  his  coming  lie 
Athwart  the  New  Year's  portal. 


266 


TO  CHARLOTTE :  WITH  A  COPY  OF  COL- 
LECTED POEMS  BY  AUSTIN  DOBSON 

OH,  listen  while  the  poet  sings 
Of  quaint  and  curious  old-world  things 
We  no  more  know: 
The  harpsichord  and  minuet, 
The  powder,  paste,  and  pirouette 
Of  long  ago. 

What  makes  the  difference  year  by  year — 
Waistcoats  and  bodices,  my  dear, 

Fashion  and  art? — 
Changeless  neath  homespun  newly  made 
As  erst  beneath  the  stiff  brocade 

Beats  the  true  Heart. 


267 


TO  CHARLOTTE :     WITH  A  COPY  OF  THE 
VICTORIAN  ANTHOLOGY 

POESY 

AN  added  delight  when  things  go  right, 
A  solace  when  things  go  wrong, 
When  the  race  is  not  to  the  swift  of  pace. 

Nor  the  battle  to  the  strong; 
A  gleam  of  Hght  in  the  dourest  night, 

A  shade  in  the  glare  of  day, 
An  echo  sweet  from  the  soul's  retreat, 

A  fount  by  the  dusty  way. 
One  need  but  will  and  the  poets  spill 

Their  treasure  of  golden  song, 
That  yet  shall  bide,  though  the  world  be  wide, 

The  day  be  never  so  long. 


268 


A 


WHEN  CHARLOTTE  PLAYS 

T  morning  time  it  seemeth  me 
The  world  is  made  of  harmony 
When  Charlotte  Plays. 


While  at  the  tender  gloaming  hour 
I  fear  no  more  that  clouds  may  lower 
When  Charlotte  Plays. 

And  when  the  stars  fill  all  the  sky 
The  very  birds  wake  to  reply 
When  Charlotte  Plays. 

What  marvel  that  I  seem  to  hear 
Those  far-off  Voices  pure  and  clear 
When  Charlotte  Plays. 

Of  that  unseen,  immortal  throng 
That  sings  each  heart  Love's  deathless  song, 
When  Charlotte  Plays. 


269 


R.  L.  S.     ONCE  MORE 

TO  LOUISE 

ONE  has  called  you  a  "Theologist" 
Another  a  "Romanticist, " 
You've  been  dubbed  a  "Sentimentalist,' 
Again  a  "Shorter  Catechist." 

But  Fiction's  self  has  claimed  you 

And  Poetry  far-famed  you 
And  little  children  love  you 

Holding  no  friend  above  you, 
Wishing  they  too  might  see  you  pass 

Kind  "Leary,"  Hghting  up  the  gas  I 

How  have  you  cheered  the  night  for  us, 
Lamp-lighter,  dear  and  sedulous, 

Despite  your  own  dark  hours  of  pain ! — 
We  shall  not  see  your  like  again. 


270 


A  BIRTHDAY  PRAYER  FOR  CHARLOTTE 

THOUGH  all  may  cry  "Lo  here,  lo  there!" 
Marking  the  way  for  me, 
To  Thee  I  make  this  only  prayer, 
Lord  Christ,  of  Calvary: 

Thou  art  not  a  science,  not  a  creed, 

All  other  names  above, 
We  give  Thee  in  our  time  of  need. 

And  lo !     That  name  is  Love ! 

Shall  I  pick  up  the  crumbs  that  fall 

From  liturgy  or  tome. 
When  to  the  feast  of  Life,  we  all 

Are  called,  who  will  may  come. 

And  very  Love  will  sup  with  us. 

When  Hving  waters  burst. 
Or  drain  Life's  bitterest  cup  with  us, 

With  us  cry  out — "I  thirst!" 

I  need  no  Daysman  me  to  lead 

"Into  the  truth.  "   Ah  no, 
He  guides  me,  from  His  hand  I  feed, 

He  knows  the  way  I  go. 
271 


A  BIRTHDAY  PRAYER 

Light  of  the  world,  enough  for  me, 
To  know  that  Thou  art  mine, 

Were  there  in  hfe  no  mystery, 
That  Light  need  never  shine. 

Were  there  no  pain  in  Hfe  for  me, 
Calvary  had  never  been; 

I  conquer  by  that  sign  of  Thee, 
Oh,  Love,  dear  Love,  Amen! 


272 


LAKE  GEORGE 

TO    CHARLOTTE 

A  BLESSED  calm  beyond  all  comprehending, 
Like  God's  own  peace  unto  His  loved  ones 
sent, 
And  joy  that  knows  no  earthly  apprehending 
Dwell  in  thy  bosom,  Lake  St.  Sacrament. 

Clear  as  the  river  of  the  saints'  beholding, 
Blue  as  the  tears  an  angel  might  have  shed; 

Meet  home  for  virgin  lilies'  sweet  unfolding, 
In  quietude  each  Hfts  its  shining  head. 

Such  peace,  dear  God,  as  deep  and  as  abiding, 
Fill  all  her  life,  for  whom  to-day  we  pray, 

We  cannot  know,  alone  in  Thee  confiding. 
We  beg,  be  Love  the  Light,  the  Truth,  the 
Way. 


i8 


273 


CHARLOTTE  AT  THE  PIANO 

WHEN  her  dear  hands  the  keys  caress 
Are  to  my  soul  revealed 
Old  longings  for  the  hidden  things 
Earth  has  not  power  to  yield : 

The  love  of  hearts  tried  in  the  fire, 

The  faith  in  what  is  true, 
The  yearning  for  the  mountain  top 

The  Vision  to  renew. 

What  witchery  is  in  her  touch ! 

I  hear  the  morning's  song, 
The  twilight's  wistful  whisperings, 

The  sea's  beat  wild  and  strong. 

Soft  cadences  I  cannot  name, 

Like  stars  with  stars  that  rhyme. 

As  if  their  rapture  we  might  share 
For  our  brief  point  of  time. 

And  paltry  values  of  the  world 

Dwindle  to  nothingness : — 
All  this  is  when  her  woman  hands 

The  throbbing  keys  caress. 


274 


TO  LOUISE 

DEAR  Lass,  in  times  of  joy  or  ease, 
All  dainty,  sweet,  and  sure  to  please; 
But  when  the  shadows  grow,  at  length 
A  tent-prop,  a  tall  tower  of  strength ! 
Sweet  Louise. 

Her  girlish  laughter  fills  the  air, 
She  loves  a  world  without  a  care, 

But  when  it  comes,  as  come  it  may. 
Behold  her,  when  the  skies  are  gray! 
Brave  Louise. 

A  girl,  and  yet  a  woman  too, 

She  nothing  knows  but  to  be  true, 

Though  having  learned  in  the  short  years 
That  loyal  hearts  may  break  in  tears ! 
True  Louise. 

We  who  are  wearied  and  depressed 
Find  in  her  strength  a  grateful  rest ; 

May  we  not  lean  too  heavily. 
Oh,  Joy  of  all  our  days,  on  thee! 
Dear  Louise. 


275 


IN  TOWN 

TO   CHARLOTTE 

A  SUMMER  in  town 
Has  joys  of  its  own, 
Lady  fair. 
Still  sounds  the  old  sea 
In  infinite  glee 
Or  deep  minor  key 
Past  compare! 

The  same  silvery  moon 
Beams  softly  upon 

The  still  street 
Where  lovers  speak  low — 
What  surely  they  know — 
That  come  weal  or  woe 

Life  is  sweet. 

But  not  all  seek  sleep, 
For  lonely  hearts  keep 

Vigil  here. 
What  is  it  that  we 
So  yearn  for? — ah,  me! 
Come  back  and  you'll  see, 

Ladv  dear. 


276 


MOTHERHOOD 

TO  H.   W.   R.   L. 

IN  the  new  world  we  entered,  he  and  I, 
What  time  in  sight  of  angels  and  of  men 
We  were  made  man  and  wife  forever,  when 
Unbarred,  unbanned,  the  gates  were  lifted  high 
Of  holy  Eden,  as  our  souls  drew  nigh. 
So  strange  it  seemed,  so  very  strange,  and  then 
It  was  as  we  had  ne'er  been  else;  again 
We  cried,  "Ah,  who  shall  guide?  " — lo  I  the  reply : 
Into  the  valley  of  the  shade  of  death 
I  entered,  and  my  hands  laid  hold  upon 
Thy  garment's  hem,  O  God  forever  blest! 
Then  at  my  breast  I  felt  the  soft  new  breath, 
The  lips'  warm  pressure  of  our  son,  our  son! 
"A  little  child  shall  lead  them."     Let  me  rest. 


277 


NIGHT  AND  MORNING 

TO    ROBIN 

WITH  garters  and  strings 
And  buttons  and  things, 
It's  hard  work  undressing  at  night ; 
Teeth  cleaning,  besides, 
When  Ted  ahvays  hides 
My  brush,  and  we  get  in  a  fight. 

Not  a  real  fight,  you  know, 
But  a  pillow  fight,  though 

It  sometimes  gets  real,  sure  enough 
Then  the  pillow  case  tears. 
And  we  both  say  our  prayers — 

Mamma  should  get  heavier  stuff. 

A  scrimmage  about, 

The  light  putting  out — 
It's  usually  I  that  does  that. 

I  pop  into  bed; 

Ted  stands  on  his  head, 
Just  like  a  real  show  acrobat. 
278 


NIGHT  AND  MORNING 

He's  too  droll  by  half — ■ 

We  laugh  and  we  laugh 
Till  we  hear  Papa's  voice  down  below : 

"Less  noise  there,  boys,  boys! 

Do  you  hear  me  ?  less  noise ! ' ' 
And  for  fear  there'll  be  trouble,  you  know, 

We  lie  very  still, 

And  know  nothing  till 
Dear  Mamma  wakes  us  up  with  a  kiss. 

IMore  buttons  and  strings 

And  garters  and  things — 
Will  there  always  be  bother  like  this? 


279 


SPENCER 

WHO  puts  the  ancients  in  the  shade 
With  questions  he  himself  has  made ' 

"Spen." 

Who  is  it  knows  we're  in  a  muff 
When  we  reply  with  arrant  bluff? 

"Spen." 

Who  is  it  can  be  what  he  will 
From  motor-man  to  "Jack"  or  "Jill"? 

"Spen." 

Who  happy  as  the  day  is  long 
Rejoices  in  a  rousing  song? 

"Spen." 

Who  is  it,  an  incarnate  joy 
Holds  the  whole  universe  his  toy? 

"Spen."' 

Who  is  it  shames  our  petty  ways, 
Our  narrow  aims,  and  empty  days? 

"Spen." 

Who  rouses  thoughts  beyond  our  speech 
That  only  unto  God  can  reach? 

"Spen." 
280 


GOOD-MORNING 

TO  HARRY 

GET  up,  get  up,  my  bo\^s  and  girls, 
The  birds  are  calling  you, 
The  flowers  had  their  faces  washed 

Long,  long  ago  with  dew. 
The  sun  is  very  much  surprised 

To  see  you  not  at  play . 
Get  up,  get  up,  my  boys  and  girls, 
Thank  God  for  a  new  da  v. 


281 


GOOD-NIGHT 

TO  HARRY 

COME,  come,  my  little  boys  and  girls, 
'Tis  time  to  go  to  bed. 
The  flowers  are  dreaming  sweetest  dreams, 

Each  bird  has  hid  its  head. 
The  sun  has  kissed  the  world  good-night, 

God's  stillness  fills  the  air, 
Good-night,  good-night,  my  boys  and  girls, 
Heaven  have  us  in  its  care. 


282 


TO    MALCOLM 

WHEN  King  Malcolm  reigned  in  Scotland 
Centuries  ago, 
Where  were  you,  his  little  namesake, 
I  should  like  to  know? 

Where  your  Mother,  where  your  Daddy, 

Where  Elizabeth, 
Where,  in  fact,  was  any  one  who 

Draws  to-day  life's   breath? 

Where  the  "Motor-car"  and  "Movies," 

Where  the  "Wireless," 
Where  the  "Telephone"  and  "Air-ships," 

Who  can  ever  guess? 

But  you  waited  to  be  born,  till 

Time  these  things  should  bring; 
Old  Malcolm  was  a  King — but  then 

He  didn't  know  a  thing ! 


283 


EASTER,  1902 

TO  BESSIE 

OH,  no,  it  is  a  waste  of  breath. 
The  schoolmen  ne'er  can  make  it  plain. 
The  mystery  of  life  in  death. 
It  is  enough,  He  lives  again. 

Behold  o'er  all  the  vernal  earth, 
Afar  and  near,  the  tidings  spread ; 

In  quickened  clod  and  violets'  birth; 
He  lives  again,  Love  is  not  dead. 

The  withered  forest  shall  we  see, 

Or  frondless  bracken  of  the  fen. 
New  clothed  in  immortality, 

And  not  the  longing  hearts  of  men. 

Faint  not,  my  soul.  Love  will  retrieve 
Life,  e'en  in  wasted  stem  and  leaf. 

There  is  no  death,  Lord,  I  believe, 
Help  Thou  my  craven  unbehef. 


284 


TO  ELSIE 

THE  day  is  drawing  near,  my  Lass, 
When  you  and  he  shall  wed, 
When  his  ring  shall  bind  your  finger, 
And  all  the  vows  be  said. 

Kindred  and  friends  shall  gather  round. 

Coming  from  far  and  wide, 
To  pray  God's  blessing  on  the  Day, 

The  Bridegroom,  and  the  Bride. 

And  the  dear  Lord  God  will  listen 

To  this,  our  one  request : 
That  Mary's  Son,  Immortal  Love, 

May  be  the  unseen  Guest 

That  shall,  as  once  at  Cana's  feast, 

Turn,  with  a  touch  divine. 
Through  all  the  years  to  come,  for  you. 

Life's  waters  into  wine. 


285 


TO  LITTLE  ELSIE:    A  CRADLE  SONG 

OH,  baby,  'tis  thy  mother's  arms 
Enfold  thee — she  who  soothes  thy  cry. 
Chanting  thee  one  of  God's  dear  Psalms 
For  lullaby. 

The  Lord,  wee  lamb,  thy  Shepherd  is, 
In  pastures  green,  by  waters  sweet, 
The  paths  of  right  thou  cans't  not  miss: 
He  guides  thy  feet. 

For  thee  He  doth  Himself  prepare 
The  very  Bread  of  Life;  and  lo, 
The  Cup  of  Love  doth  everywhere 
For  thee  o'erflow. 

His  goodness  and  His  mercy  wide 
Through  all  thy  days  shall  follow  thee, 
And  thou  in  His  own  House  shalt  bide 
Eternally. 


286 


"NOW  I  LAY  ME— "(REVISED) 

TO  LITTLE  ELSIE 

NOW  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep, 
I  give  myself  to  God  to  keep , 
With  all  I  love,  and  when  we  wake, 
Still  keep  us,  Lord,  for  Jesus'  sake. 

Amen. 


287 


THE  PARTY 

TO  LITTLE  ELSIE 

T  T'S  Hi !  for  the  Party  and  it's  Ho !  for  the  Party 

1     And  who'll  to  the  Party  with  me? 

There  are  joys  at  the  Party, 

And  toys  at  the  Party, 

And  a  birthday  cake  for  tea ! 

There  are  girls  at  the  Party, 
With  curls,  at  the  Party, 
And  dancing  one,  two,  three; 
There  are  boys  at  the  Party, 
And  there's  noise  at  the  Party, 
And  laughter,  songs,  and  glee. 

It's  "good-night"  to  the  Party 

At  twilight,  when  the  Party 

Is  over  and  done  the  play; 

To  the  birthday,  "good-night," 

To  the  grown-ups,  "good-night" — 

God  bless  us  all,  we  pray. 


THE  BABY'S   CURL 

TO  LITTLE  ELSIE 

OUT  from  the  letter's  close  embrace 
The  Baby's  tress  unrolled 
As  from  some  mystic,  ageless  loom 
Shot  through  with  threads  of  gold. 

Its  warp  and  woof,  like  molten  bronze, 

Around  my  finger  curled — 
The  wonder  of  the  deathless  hair 

In  a  sad  mortal  world ! 

It  seemed  a  link  in  that  vast  chain, 
Dear  Child,  that  leads  from  earth. 

Unto  God's  altar  stairs,  whereon 
She  treads,  who  gave  thee  birth. 

Radiant,  she  works  with  God  for  thee, 
Nor  knows  our  wild  alarms — 

When  born  again  thou  enter'st  Heaven 
Thou  shalt  fall  in  her  arms  1 


19  289 


ELSIE  BLAKE  KING 

The  news  of  the  sudden  death  of  Elsie  Blake 
King  at  her  home  in  White  Plains,  on  the 
twenty-fifth  of  January,  191 1,  came  with  a 
shock  that  carried  dismay  to  the  hearts  of  her 
people,  her  classmates,  and  her  wide  circle  of 
friends.  To  us  all,  it  was  as  if  most  lovely 
music  had  unexpectedly  ceased,  since  we  were 
to  hear  no  more  that  incomparable  voice.  So 
vivid  was  the  impression  she  everywhere  made, 
so  diffusive  her  every-day  gladness,  so  keen  her 
zest  of  life,  that  it  will  be  long  before  we  can 
make  it  true  to  our  hearts  that  her  earthly  task 
is  finished.  And  in  what  a  high  and  exultant 
mood  she  took  her  task  upon  her,  holding  out 
both  hands  to  welcome  each  day  whatever  it 
might  bring;  every  experience  came  to  her 
charged  with  real  significance,  effort  was  the 
breath  of  her  life  and  its  own  exceeding  great 
reward.  A  gladder  heart  never  beat,  and  the 
brief,  radiant  life  rounded  to  completion  before 
ever  the  shadows  closed  in,  or  the  days  grew  long. 
In  the  hearts  that  loved  her  is  immortaHzed  a 
presence  which,  in  dissemination,  must  forever 
290 


ELSIE  BLAKE  KING 

grow  from  strength  to  strength  and  from  grace 
to  grace:  it  will  be  felt  in  a  fresh  uplift  of 
the  whole  tone  of  the  School  which  she  loved, 
and  live  on  in  classroom,  hall,  and  sacred 
chapel. 

The  quality  of  the  scholarship  of  Elsie  Blake 
King  reflects  a  distinction  upon  the  Institute,  for 
it  was  a  giving  back  to  her  xA-lma  Mater  of  that 
which  she  first  received  from  her:  there  she 
learned  those  enduring  lessons  that  are  far  and 
away  be3'ond  the  mere  enlightenment  imparted 
by  the  text-book  in  the  teacher's  hand,  and 
imbibed  not  only  the  "love  of  knowledge,  but 
the  knowledge  of  love."  Like  a  shepherd  the 
true  teacher  knows  his  own,  and  his  own  know 
his  voice :  listening,  she  heard  with  both  mind  and 
heart.  Such  a  pupil  is  to  the  devoted  instructor 
the  supreme  reward,  and  makes  of  his,  or  her, 
vocation  not  alone  the  finest  of  fine  arts,  but  a 
veritable  "high  calling." 

An  irreparable  loss  has  fallen  upon  the  Class  of 
1903;  that  community  of  interests  which  is  the 
life  of  every  class,  never  wholly  ceases  however 
separated  its  members  may  be  after  graduation. 
What  memories  they  hold  in  common!  how 
thoroughly  they  know  each  other!  The  love 
of  the  Class  of  1903  for  Elsie  Blake  King  was 
born  of  beautiful  intimacy.  An  inspiration  she 
was  in  the  class-room  and  in  those  memorable 
291 


ELSIE  BLAKE  KING 

'*  good -times"  when  the  social  graces — which 
were  so  eminentl}^  hers — are  called  in  plav,  a 
gracious  presence  and  an  inestimable  influence. 
Well  may  her  classmates  cry  out : 

"In  the  hour  of  our  need, 
Like  an  angel  appear 
Radiant  with  ardor  divine, 
Strengthen  the  wavering  line, 
Stablish,  continue  our  march 
On  to  the  bound  of  the  waste, 
On  to  the  city  of  God." 

For  the  Alumnae,  both  those  who  are  novices 
in  the  Sisterhood,  and  those  who  sit  beside  the 
weary  road  to  hear  the  angel's  sing,  there  is  a 
new,  young,  triumphant  voice  in  that  "Choir 
Invisible,  whose  music  is  the  gladness  of  the 
world." 

Testing  our  lives  by  the  discipleship  of  our 
loved  one,  we  are  inclined  to  look  upon  high 
and  endearing  qualities  not  as  attainments,  but 
as  gifts  conferred  b}^  the  immanent  hand  of  the 
Creator;  but  so  to  consider  is  to  miss  the  lesson: 
her  many-sidedness,  exquisite  courtesy,  lovely 
personality,  and  even  the  rare  music  of  her 
voice  were  the  flowering  of  an  intense  moral 
earnestness  that  formed  the  base  of  her  char- 
acter. Gifted  she  assuredly  was,  but  as  the 
stem  is  dowered  with  the  blossom. 
292 


ELSIE  BLAKE  KING 

To  love  her  was  more  than  a  liberal  education : 
it  was  a  lifting  of  one's  spirit  into  the  things  of 
God  to  which  she  had  attained;  of  a  generation 
that  is  in  very  real  danger  of  mistaking  ethics 
for  religion  and  altruism  for  sympathy,  she  yet 
walked  in  quiet  obedience  to  the  Heavenly 
Vision,  heeding  always  the  divine  instruction: 
"Little  children,  love  one  another."  Her  great 
heart  enfolded  not  only  her  people,  her  class- 
mates, and  her  countless  friends,  it  embraced 
with  a  Christlike  compassion  the  neglected, 
miserable  children  of  the  tenements;  these 
she  loved,  not  theoretically,  not  experimentally, 
but  by  making  her  own  the  hopeless  drav/backs 
and  meager  pleasures  of  their  pitiable  little 
lives.  Was  there  ever  any  heart  that  could  so 
nobly  rejoice  with  those  that  rejoice,  or  so 
tenderly  weep  w^th  those  that  weep!  The  New. 
Commandment  was  the  law  of  her  life:  for  love 
she  lived,  for  love's  sake  she  laid  down  her 
life.  The  pure  white  flame  lit  up  the  little 
spark  and  then  aspired  to  God. 


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